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THE    YOKE 


THE  YOKE 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  WHEN  THE 
LORD  REDEEMED  THE  CHILDREN  OF 
ISRAEL  FROM  THE  BONDAGE  OF  EGYPT 


BY 

ELIZABETH    MILLER 


THE     BOBBS  -  MERRILL    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  INDIANAPOLIS 


Copyright,  1904 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


January 


press  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


mm 


TO 

PERCY    MILLER 

MY   BROTHER 


2226917 


Jfc 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  CHOOSING   THE    TENS  I 

II  UNDER   BAN    OF   THE    RITUAL  21 

III  THE    MESSENGER  44 

IV  THE    PROCESSION   OF    AMEN  60 
V  THE    HEIR   TO    THE   THRONE  75 

VI  THE   LADY   MIRIAM  87 

VII  ATHOR,  THE    GOLDEN  9& 

VIII  THE    PUNISHMENT    OF    ATSU  »2 

IX  THE    COLLAR    OF    GOLD  "8 

X  THE    DEBT    OF    ISRAEL  134 

XI  HEBREW  CRAFT  145 

XII  CANAAN  1Sl 

XIII  THE    COMING    OF    THE   PHARAOH  165 

XIV  THE   MARGIN   OF    THE   NILE  180 
XV  THE    GODS    OF    EGYPT  I<?2 

XVI  THE    ADVICE    OF    HOTEP  I98 

XVII  THE    SON    OF    THE   MURKET  2l8 

XVIII  AT   MASAARAH  239 

XIX  IN    THE    DESERT  25x 

XX  THE    TREASURE    CAVE  2&7 

XXI  ON    THE    WAY    TO    THEBES  2%7 

XXII  THE   FAN-BEARER'S    GUEST  2g5 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII  THE    TOMB    OF    THE    PHARAOH  3°5 

XXIV  THE    PETITION  321 
XXV  THE    LOVE    OF    RAMESES  327 

XXVI  FURTHER    DIPLOMACY  344 

XXVII  THE    HEIR    INTERVENES  352 

XXVIII  THE    IDOLS    CRUMBLE  3^5 

XXIX  THE    PLAGUES  37° 

XXX  HE    HARDENED    HIS    HEART  39° 

XXXI  THE    CONSPIRACY  399 

XXXII  RACHEL'S    REFUGE  4*6 

XXXIII  BACK    TO    MEMPHIS  428 

XXXIV  NIGHT  436 

XXXV  LIGHT    AFTER    DARKNESS  45  x 
XXXVI  THE    MURKET'S    SACRIFICE  462 

XXXVII  AT    THE    WELL  473 

XXXVIII  THE    TRAITORS  49° 

XXXIX  BEFORE    EGYPT'S    THRONE  5QI 

XL  THE    FIRST-BORN  5X9 

XLI  THE    ANGEL    OF    DEATH  53° 

XLII  EXPATRIATION  535 

XLIII  "THE    PHARAOH    DREW    NIGH"  55° 

XLIV  THE    WAY    TO    THE    SEA  571 

XLV  THROUGH    THE    RED    SEA  5^9 

XLVI  WHOM    THE    LADY    MIRIAM    SENT  595 

XLVII  THE    PROMISED    LAND  605 


THE    YOKE 


THE    YOKE 

A  STORY  OF  THE  EXODUS 

CHAPTER  I 

CHOOSING  THE  TENS 

Near  the  eastern  boundary  of  that  level  region  of 
northern  Egypt,  known  as  the  Delta,  once  thridded  by 
seven  branches  of  the  sea-hunting  Nile,  Rameses  II, 
in  the  fourteenth  century  B.  C,  erected  the  city  of 
Pithom  and  stored  his  treasure  therein.  His  riches 
overtaxed  its  coffers  and  he  builded  Pa-Ramesu,  in 
part,  to  hold  the  overflow.  But  he  died  before  the 
work  was  completed  by  half,  and  his  fourteenth  son 
and  successor,  Meneptah,  took  it  up  and  pushed  it 
with  the  nomad  bond-people  that  dwelt  in  the  Delta. 

The  city  was  laid  out  near  the  center  of  Goshen,  a 
long  strip  of  fertile  country  given  over  to  the  Israelites 
since  the  days  of  the  Hyksos  king,  Apepa,  near  the 
year  1800  B.  C. 

Morning  in  the  land  of  the  Hebrew  dawned  over 
level  fields,  green  with  unripe  wheat  and  meadow 
grass.  Wherever  the  soil  was  better  for  grazing  great 
flocks  of  sheep  moved  in  compact  clouds,  with  a  lank 
dog  and  an  ancient  shepherd  following  them. 

The  low,  shapeless  tents  and  thatched  hovels  of  the 
1 


2  THE  YOKE 

Israelites  stood  in  the  center  of  gardens  of  lentils, 
garlic  and  lettuce,  securely  hedged  against  the  inroads 
of  hares  and  roving  cattle.  Close  to  these  were  com- 
pounds for  the  flocks  and  brush  inclosures  for  geese, 
and  cotes  for  the  pigeons  used  in  sacrifice.  Here 
dwelt  the  aged  in  trusteeship  over  the  land,  while  the 
young  and  sturdy  builded  Pa-Ramesu. 

Sunrise  on  the  uncompleted  city  tipped  the  raw 
lines  of  her  half-built  walls  with  broken  fire  and  gilded 
the  gear  of  gigantic  hoisting  cranes.  Scaffolding, 
clinging  to  bald  fagades,  seemed  frail  and  cobwebby 
at  great  height,  and  slabs  of  stone,  drawn  and  held  by 
cables  near  the  summit  of  chutes,  looked  like  dice  on 
the  giddy  slide. 

Below  in  the  still  shadowy  passages  and  interiors, 
speckled  with  fallen  mortar,  lay-  chains,  rubble  of 
brick  and  chipped  stone;  splinters,  flinders  and  odd 
ends  of  timber ;  scraps  of  metal,  broken  implements 
and  the  what-not  that  litters  the  path  of  construction. 
Without,  in  the  avenues,  vaguely  outlined  by  the 
slowly  rising  structures  on  either  side,  were  low-rid- 
ing, long,  heavy,  dwarf-wheeled  vehicles  and  sledges 
to  which  men,  not  beasts,  had  been  harnessed.  Here, 
also,  were  great  cords  of  new  brick  and  avalanches  of 
glazed  tile  where  disaster  had  overtaken  orderly  stacks 
of  this  multi-tinted  material.  In  the  open  spaces  were 
covered  heaps  of  sand,  and  tons  of  lime,  in  sacks ; 
lavers  of  paint  and  hogsheads  of  tar ;  ingots  of  copper 
and  pigs  of  bronze.  Roadways,  beaten  in  the  dust  by 
a  multitude  of  bare  feet,  led  in  a  hundred  directions, 
all  merging  in  one  great  track  toward  the  camp  of  the 
laboring  Israelites. 

This  was  pitched  in  a  vast  open  in  the  city's  center, 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  3 

wherein  Rameses  II  had  planned  to  build  a  second 
Karnak  to  Imhotep.  Under  the  gracious  favor  of 
this,  the  physician  god,  the  great  Pharaoh  had  re- 
gained his  sight.  But  death  stayed  his  grateful  hand 
and  Meneptah  forgot  his  father's  debt.  Here,  then, 
year  in  and  year  out,  an  angular  sea  of  low  tents  shel- 
tered Israel. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  all  the  sons  of  Abraham 
were  here.  Thousands  labored  yet  in  the  perfection 
of  Pithom,  on  the  highways  of  the  Lower  country, 
and  on  the  Rameside  canal,  and  the  greater  number 
made  the  brick  for  all  Egypt  in  the  clay-fields  of  the 
Delta.  Therefore,  within  the  walls  of  Pa-Ramesu 
there  were  somewhat  more  than  three  thousand  He- 
brews, men,  women  and  children. 

On  a  slight  eminence,  overlooking  the  camp,  were 
numerous  small  structures  of  sun-dried  brick,  grouped 
about  one  of  larger  dimensions.  Above  this  was  raised 
a  military  standard,  a  hawk  upon  a  cross-bar,  from 
which  hung  party-colored  tassels  of  linen  floss.  By 
this  sign,  the  order  of  government  was  denoted.  The 
Hebrews  were  under  martial  law. 

The  camp  was  astir.  Thin  columns  of  blue  smoke 
drifted  up  here  and  there  between  the  close-set  tents, 
and  the  sibilant  wearing  of  stone-mills,  as  they  ground 
the  wheat,  was  heard  in  many  households.  The  nutty 
aroma  of  parching  lentils,  and  the  savor  of  roasting 
papyrus  root  and  garlic  told  the  stage  of  the  morning 
meal.  The  strong-armed  women,  rich  brown  in  tint 
from  the  ardent  sun,  crowned  with  coil  upon  coil  of 
heavy  hair,  bent  over  the  pungent  fires.  Sturdy  chil- 
dren, innocent  of  raiment,  went  hither  and  thither, 
bearing  well  filled  skins  of  water.    Apart  from  these 


4  THE   YOKE 

were  the  men  of  Israel,  bearded  and  grave,  stalwart 
and  scantily  clad.  They  repaired  a  cable  or  fitted  an 
ax-handle  or  mended  a  hoe.  But  they  were  full  of 
serious  and  absorbed  discourse,  for  the  great  Hebrew, 
Moses,  from  the  sheep-ranges  of  Midian,  had  been 
among  them,  showing  them  marvels  of  sorcery, 
preaching  Jehovah  and  promising  freedom.  The  first 
high  white  light  of  dawn  was  breaking  upon  the 
century-long  night  of  Israel. 

Before  one  of  the  tents  an  old  woman  knelt  beside 
a  bed  of  live  coals,  turning  a  browning  water-fowl 
upon  a  pointed  stick.  She  was  a  consummate  cook, 
and  the  bird  was  fat  and  securely  trussed.  Now  and 
again  she  sprinkled  a  pinch  of  crude  salt  on  the  embers 
to  suppress  the  odor  of  the  burning  drippings,  and 
lifted  the  fowl  out  of  the  reach  of  the  pale  flames  that 
leaped  up  thereafter.  Presently  she  removed  the  fowl 
and  forked  it  off  the  spit  into  a  capacious  earthenware 
bowl  near  by.  Then,  with  green  withes  as  tongs,  she 
drew  forth  a  round  tile  from  under  the  coals  and  set 
it  over  the  dish  to  complete  the  baking.  From  another 
tile-platter  at  hand  she  took  several  round  slices  of 
durra  bread  and  proceeded  to  toast  them  with  much 
skill,  tilting  the  hot  tile  and  casting  each  browned  slice 
in  on  the  fowl  as  it  was  done.  When  she  had  finished, 
she  removed  the  cover  and  set  the  bowl  on  the  large 
platter,  protecting  her  hands  from  its  heat  with  a  fold 
of  her  habit.  With  no  little  triumph  and  some  diffi- 
culty she  got  upon  her  feet  and  carried  the  toothsome 
dish  into  her  shelter,  to  place  it  beyond  the  reach  of 
stealthy  hands.  No  such  meal  was  cooked  that  morn- 
ing, elsewhere,  in  Pa-Ramesu,  except  at  the  military 
headquarters  on  the  knoll. 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  5 

There  was  little  inside  the  tent,  except  the  meager- 
est  essential  furnishing.  A  long  amphora  stood  in  a 
tamarisk  rack  in  one  corner;  a  linen  napkin  hung, 
pinned  to  the  tent-cloth,  over  it;  a  glazed  laver  and  a 
small  box  sat  beside  it.  A  mat  of  braided  reeds,  the 
handiwork  of  the  old  Israelite,  covered  the  naked  earth. 
This  served  as  seat  or  table  for  the  occupants.  Several 
wisps  of  straw  were  scattered  about  and  a  heap  of  it, 
over  which  a  cotton  cloak  had  been  thrown,  lay  in  one 
corner. 

"Rachel,"  the  old  woman  said  briskly. 

Evidently  some  one  slept  under  the  straw,  for  the 
heap  stirred. 

"Rachel!"  the  old  woman  reiterated,  drawing  off 
the  cloak. 

Without  any  preliminary  pushing  away  of  the 
straw,  a  young  girl  sat  up.  A  little  bewildered,  she 
divested  her  head  and  shoulders  of  a  frowsy  straw 
thatch  and  stood  erect,  shaking  it  off  from  her  single 
short  garment. 

She  was  not  more  than  sixteen  years  old.  Above  me- 
dium height  and  of  nobler  proportions  than  the  typical 
woman  of  the  race,  her  figure  was  remarkable  for  its 
symmetry  and  utter  grace.  The  stamp  of  the  coun- 
tenance was  purely  Semitic,  except  that  she  was  dis- 
tinguished, most  wondrously  in  color,  from  her  kind. 
Her  sleep  had  left  its  exquisite  heaviness  on  eyes  of 
the  tenderest  blue,  and  the  luxuriant  hair  she  pushed 
back  from  her  face  was  a  fleece  of  gold.  Hers  was 
that  rare  complexion  that  does  not  tan.  The  sun  but 
brightened  her  hair  and  wrought  the  hue  of  health  in 
her  cheeks.  Her  forehead  was  low,  broad,  and  white 
as  marble;  her  neck  and  arms  white,  and  the  hands, 


6  THE   YOKE 

busied  with  the  hair,  were  strong,  soft,  dimpled  and 
white.  The  grace  of  her  womanhood  had  not  been 
overcome  by  the  slave-labor,  which  she  had  known 
from  infancy. 

"Good  morning,  Deborah.  Why — thy  bed — have 
I  slept  under  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"Since  the  middle  of  the  last  watch,"  the  old  woman 
assented. 

"But  why?  Did  Merenra  come?"  the  girl  inquired 
anxiously. 

"Nay ;  but  I  heard  some  one  ere  the  camp  was  astir 
and  I  covered  thee." 

"And  thou  hast  had  no  sleep  since,"  the  girl  said, 
with  regret  in  her  voice.  "Thou  dost  reproach  me 
with  thy  goodness,  Deborah." 

She  went  to  the  amphora  and  poured  water  into  the 
laver,  drew  forth  from  the  box  a  horn  comb  and  a 
vial  of  powdered  soda  from  the  Natron  Lakes,  and 
proceeded  with  her  toilet. 

"Came  some  one,  of  a  truth?"  she  asked  presently. 

Deborah  pointed  to  the  smoking  bowl.  Rachel  in- 
spected the  fowl. 

"Marsh-hen!"  she  cried  in  surprise. 

"Atsu  brought  it." 

"Atsu?" 

"Even  so.  From  his  own  bounty  and  for  Rachel,"" 
Deborah  explained. 

Rachel  smiled. 

"Thou  art  beset  from  a  new  direction,"  the  old 
woman  continued  dryly,  "but  thou  hast  naught  to  fear 
from  him." 

"Nay;  I  know,"  Rachel  murmured,  arranging  her 
dress. 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  7 

The  garb  of  the  average  bondwoman  was  of  start- 
ling simplicity.  It  consisted  of  two  pieces  of  stuff 
little  wider  than  the  greatest  width  of  the  wearer's 
body,  tied  by  the  corners  over  each  shoulder,  belted  at 
the  waist  with  a  thong  and  laced  together  with  fiber  at 
the  sides,  from  the  hips  to  a  point  just  above  the  knee. 
It  was  open  above  and  below  this  simple  seam  and 
interfered  not  at  all  with  the  freedom  of  the  wearer's 
movements.  But  Rachel's  habit  was  a  voluminous 
surplice,  fitting  closely  at  the  neck,  supplied  with  wide 
sleeves,  seamed,  hemmed  and  of  ample  length.  Deb- 
orah was  literally  swathed  in  covering,  with  only  her 
withered  face  and  hands  exposed.  There  was  a  hint 
of  rank  in  their  superior  dress  and  more  than  a  sug- 
gestion of  blood  in  the  bearing  of  the  pair;  but  they 
were  laborers  with  the  shepherds  and  serving-people 
of  Israel. 

"He  would  wed  thee,  after  the  manner  of  thy  people, 
and  take  thee  from  among  Israel,"  Deborah  continued. 

The  girl  drooped  her  head  over  the  lacing  of  her 
habit  and  made  no  answer.  The  old  woman  looked  at 
her  sharply  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  eat;  Rachel,  eat,"  she  urged  at  last.  "The 
marsh-hen  will  stand  thee  in  good  stead  and  thou  hast 
a  weary  day  before  thee." 

Rachel  looked  at  the  old  woman  and  made  mental 
comparison  between  the  ancient  figure  and  her  strong, 
young  self.  With  great  deliberation  she  divided  the 
fowl  into  a  large  and  small  part. 

"This,"  she  said,  extending  the  larger  to  Deborah, 
"is  thine.  Take  it,"  waving  aside  the  protests  of  the 
old  woman,  "or  the  first  taste  of  it  will  choke  me." 


8  THE   YOKE 

Deborah  submitted  duly  and  consumed  the  tender 
morsel  while  she  watched  Rachel  break  her  fast. 

"What  said  Atsu?"  Rachel  asked,  after  the  marsh- 
hen  was  less  apparent. 

"Little,  which  is  his  way,  But  his  every  word  was 
worth  a  harangue  in  weight.  Merenra  and  his  purple- 
wearing  visitor,  the  spoiler,  the  pompous  wolf,  de- 
parted for  Pithom  last  night,  hastily  summoned  thither 
by  a  royal  message.  But  the  commander  returns  to- 
morrow at  sunset.  This  morning,  every  tenth  Hebrew 
in  Pa-Ramesu  is  to  be  chosen  and  sent  to  the  quarries. 
Atsu  will  send  thee  and  me,  whether  we  fall  among 
the  tens  of  a  truth  or  not.  So  we  get  out  of  the  city 
ere  Merenra  returns,  He  called  the  ruse  a  cruel  one 
and  not  wholly  safe,  but  he  would  sooner  see  thee 
dead  than  despoiled  by  this  guest  of  Merenra's — or 
any  other.  I  doubt  not  his  heart  breaketh  for  thy 
sake,  Rachel,  and  he  would  rend  himself  to  spare 
thee." 

"The  Lord  God  bless  him,"  the  girl  murmured  ear- 
nestly. 

"Where  dost  thou  say  we  go?"  she  asked  after  a 
little  silence. 

"To  the  quarries  of  Masaarah,  opposite  Memphis." 

The  color  in  the  young  Israelite's  face  receded  a 
little. 

"To  the  quarries,"  she  repeated  in  a  half-whisper. 

"Fearest  thou?" 

"Nay,  not  for  myself,  at  all,  but  we  may  not  have 
another  Atsu  over  us  there.    I  fear  for  thee,  Deborah." 

The  old  woman  waved  her  hands. 

"Trouble  not  concerning  me.  I  shall  not  die  by 
heavy  labor." 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  9 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  and  gazed  out  of  the 
low  entrance  of  the  tent.  Her  face  was  full  of  trouble. 
Once  again  the  old  woman  looked  at  her  with  suspi- 
cion in  her  eyes.  Presently  the  girl  asked,  coloring 
painfully : 

"Was  Atsu  commanded  to  hold  me  for  this  guest 
of  Merenra's — ah!"  she  broke  off,  "did  Atsu  name 
him?" 

"Not  by  the  titles  by  which  the  man  would  as  lief  be 
known,"  Deborah  answered  grimly,  "but  I  remember 
he  called  him  'the  governor.'  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

"Not  so,"  she  resumed,  answering  Rachel's  first 
question.  "Atsu  but  overheard  him  say  to  Merenra 
to  see  to  it  that  thou  wast  taken  from  toil  and  made 
ready  to  journey  with  him  to  Bubastis," 

"He  can  not  take  me  by  right  save  by  a  document 
of  gift  from  the  Pharaoh,"  Rachel  protested  indig- 
nantly. 

"Of  a  truth,"  the  old  woman  admitted;  "but 
Merenra  is  chief  commander  over  Pa-Ramesu  and 
how  shall  thine  appeal  to  the  Pharaoh  pass  beyond 
Merenra  if  he  see  fit  to  humor  this  ravening  lord  with 
a  breach  of  the  law?  The  message  summoning  him 
in  haste  to  Pithom  before  the  order  could  be  fulfilled 
was  all  that  saved  thee.  And  if  Merenra  return  ere 
thou  art  safely  gone,  thou  art  of  a  surety  undone." 

Rachel  moveid  away  a  little  and  stood  thinking. 
The  old  woman  went  on  with  a  note  of  despondency 
in  her  voice. 

"Alas,  Rachel!  thou  art  in  eternal  peril  because  of 
thy  lovely  face.  Beauty  is  a  curse  to  a  bondwoman. 
What  I  beheld  in  truth  yesterday  I  have   seen   in 


io  THE   YOKE 

dreams — the  discourteous  hand  put  forth  to  seize  thee 
and  the  power  back  of  it  to  enforce  its  demand.  And 
yet,  I  would  not  wish  thee  old  and  uncomely,  for  that, 
too,  is  a  curse  to  the  bondwoman,"  she  added  with  a 
reflective  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"If  I  but  knew  his  name — "  Rachel  pondered  aloud. 

"What  matter?"  the  old  woman  answered  almost 
roughly.  "Suffice  it  to  know  that  he  is  a  knave  and  a 
noble  and  hath  evil  in  his  heart  against  thee." 

"Now,  if  I  might  dye  my  hair  or  stain  my  face — " 
Rachel  began  after  a  pause. 

"Thou  foolish  child!  It  would  not  wear,  nor  hide 
thy  charm  at  all !" 

"But  I  dread  the  quarries  for  thee,  Deborah.  If 
only  we  might  be  hidden  here,  somewhere." 

"Come,  dost  thou  want  to  marry  Atsu?"  the  old 
woman  demanded  harshly. 

The  girl  turned  toward  her,  her  face  flushed  with 
resentment. 

"Nay!  And  that  thou  knowest.  For  this  very 
mingling  with  Egypt  is  Israel  cursed.  The  idolatrous 
have  reached  out  their  hands  in  marriage  and  wedded 
the  Hebrews  away  from  the  God  of  Abraham.  When 
did  an  Egyptian  desert  his  gods  for  the  faith  of  the 
Hebrew  he  took  in  marriage?  Not  at  any  time. 
Therefore  have  we  fed  the  shrines  of  the  idols  and  in- 
creased the  numbers  of  the  idolaters  and  behold,  the 
hosts  of  Jehovah  have  dwindled  to  naught.  There- 
fore is  He  wroth  with  us,  and  justly.  For  are  there 
not  pitiful  shrines  to  Ra,  Ptah  and  Amen  within  the 
boundaries  of  Goshen  ?  Nay,  I  wed  not  with  an  idola- 
ter," she  concluded  firmly. 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  n 

Deborah's  wrinkled  face  lighted  and  she  put  a  ten- 
der arm  about  the  girl. 

"Of  a  truth,  then,  it  is  for  me  that  thou  wouldst 
avoid  the  quarries,"  she  said.  "I  did  but  try  thee, 
Rachel." 

Rachel  looked  at  her  reproachfully,  but  the  old 
woman  smiled  and  drew  her  out  into  the  open. 

Without,  Israel  of  Pa-Ramesu  made  ready  to  sur- 
render a  tenth  of  her  number  to  the  newest  task  laid 
on  it  by  the  Pharaoh.  Quarrying  was  unusual  labor 
for  an  Israelite  and  the  name  carried  terror  with  it. 
Long  had  it  meant  heavy  punishment  for  the  malefac- 
tor and  now  was  the  Hebrew  to  take  up  its  bitter  life. 
The  hard  form  of  oppression  following  so  closely 
upon  the  promise  of  liberty  by  Moses  had  diversified 
effects  upon  the  camp.  There  was  rebellion  among  the 
optimists,  and  the  less  hopeful  spirits  were  crushed. 
There  was  the  scoffer,  who  exasperates;  the  enthusi- 
ast, the  over-buoyant,  who  could  point  out  favorable 
omens  even  in  this  bitter  affliction ;  and  it  could  not  be 
divined  which  of  these  troubled  the  people  more.  But 
whatever  the  individual  temper,  the  entire  camp  was 
overhung  with  distress. 

Israel  had  gathered  in  families  before  her  tents — 
the  mothers  hovering  their  broods,  the  fathers  tramp- 
ing uneasily  about  them.  In  the  heart  of  each,  per- 
haps, was  an  indefinable  conviction  that  he  should  fall 
among  the  tens.  Since  Israel  had  died  in  droves  by 
hard  labor  in  the  brick-fields  and  along  the  road- 
ways and  canals,  in  what  numbers  and  with  what  dire 
speed  would  not  Israel  perish  in  the  dreaded  stone- 
pits! 


12  THE  YOKE 

Just  outside  the  doorway  of  their  shelter,  Deborah 
and  Rachel  overlooked  the  troubled  camp. 

"Moses  comes  in  time,"  Rachel  said,  speaking  in  a 
low  tone,  "for  Israel  is  in  sore  straits.  The  hand  of 
the  oppressor  assaileth  with  fury  his  bones  and  his 
sinews  now.  How  shall  it  be  with  him  if  he  is  be- 
queathed from  Pharaoh  to  Pharaoh  of  an  intent  like 
unto  the  last  three?  He  shall  have  perished  from  the 
face  of  t^he  earth,  for  the  Hebrew  bends  not;  he 
breaks." 

Deborah  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  sunken  eyes 
were  set  and  she  seemed  not  to  hear.  But  presently 
she  spoke : 

"Thou  hast  said.  But  the  Hebrew  droppeth  out  of 
the  inheritance  of  the  Pharaohs  in  thy  generation, 
Rachel.  The  end  of  the  bondage  is  at  hand.  Thou 
shalt  see  it.  Of  a  truth  Israel  shall  perish,  if  its  af- 
flictions increase  for  long.  But  they  shall  not  continue. 
Have  we  entered  Canaan  as  God  sware  unto  Abraham 
we  should  ?  Have  we  possessed  the  gates  of  our  ene- 
mies? Shall  He  stamp  us  out,  with  His  promise  yet 
unfulfilled?  Behold,  we  have  gone  astray  from  Him, 
but  not  utterly,  as  all  the  other  peoples  of  the  earth. 
For  centuries,  amid  the  great  clamor  of  prayers  to  the 
hollow  gods,  there  arose  only  from  this  compound  of 
slaves,  here,  a  call  to  Him.  Out  of  the  reek  of  idola- 
trous savors,  drifted  up  now  and  again  the  straight  col- 
umn from  the  altar  of  a  Hebrew,  sacrificing  to  the 
One  God.  Where,  indeed,  are  any  faithful,  save  in 
Israel?  Shall  He  condemn  us  who  only  have  held 
steadfast?  Nay!  He  hath  but  permitted  the  oppres- 
sion that  we  may  have  our  fill  of  the  glories  of  Egypt 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  13 

and  be  glad  to  turn  our  backs  upon  her.  He  will  cure 
us  of  idols  by  showing  forth  their  helplessness  when 
they  are  cried  unto;  and  when  Israel  is  in  its  most 
grievous  strait  and  therefore  most  prone  to  attach 
itself  to  whosoever  helpeth  it,  He  will  prove  Him- 
self at  last  by  His  power.  Aye,  thou  hast  said.  Israel 
can  suffer  little  more  without  perishing.  Therefore 
is  redemption  at  hand." 

Rachel  had  turned  her  eyes  away  from  the  humilia- 
tion of  Israel  to  its  exaltation — from  fact  to  prophecy. 
She  was  looking  with  awed  face  at  Deborah.  The 
prophetess  went  on : 

"Israel  hath  been  a  green  tree,  carried  hither  in 
seed  and  grown  in  the  wheat-fields  of  Mizraim.  The 
herds  and  the  flocks  of  the  Pharaoh  gathered  under 
its  branches  and  were  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  day 
and  from  the  wolves  by  night.  The  early  Pharaohs 
loved  it,  the  later  Pharaohs  used  it  and  the  last  Phara- 
ohs feared  it.  For  it  grew  exceedingly  and  overshad- 
owed the  wheat-fields  and  they  said :  'It  will  come  be- 
tween us  and  Ra  who  is  our  god  and  he  will  bless  it 
instead  of  the  wheat.  Let  us  cut  it  down  and  build 
us  temples  of  its  timber.'  But  the  Lord  had  planted 
the  tree  in  seed  and  in  its  youth  it  grew  under  the 
tendance  of  the  Lord's  hand.  And  in  later  years, 
though  it  lent  its  shadow  as  a  grove  for  the  idols  and 
temples  of  gods,  the  most  of  it  faced  Heaven,  and  for 
that  the  Lord  loves  it  still.  The  Pharaohs  have  lopped 
its  branches,  unmolested,  but  lo !  now  that  the  ax 
strikes  at  its  girth,  the  Lord  will  uproot  it  and  plant 
it  elsewhere  than  in  Mizraim.  But  the  soil  will  not 
relinquish  it  readily,  for  it  hath  struck  deep.    There 


i4  THE   YOKE 

shall  be  a  gaping  wound  in  Mizraim  where  it  stood 
and  all  the  land  shall  be  rent  with  the  violence  of  the 
parting." 

The  prophetess  paused,  or  rather  her  voice  died 
away  as  if  she  actually  beheld  the  scene  she  foretold, 
and  no  more  words  were  needed  to  make  it  plain. 

Rachel's  hands  were  clasped  before  her  breast. 

"Sayest  thou  these  things  in  prophecy?"  she  asked 
finally  in  an  eager  half-whisper.  Deborah's  eyes 
seemed  to  awaken.  She  looked  at  Rachel  a  moment 
and  answered  with  a  nod.  The  girl's  vision  wandered 
slowly  again  toward  the  camp,  and  the  sorrowful  un- 
rest of  Israel  subdued  the  inspired  elation  that  had 
begun  to  possess  her.  Her  face  clouded  once  more. 
Deborah  touched  her. 

"Trouble  not  thyself  concerning  these  people.  They 
go  forth  to  labor,  but  their  burdens  shall  be  lightened 
ere  long.  As  for  thee  and  me — "  she  paused  and 
looked  up  toward  the  eminence  on  which  the  military 
headquarters  were  built. 

"As  for  thee  and  me — "  Rachel  urged  her. 

Deborah  motioned  in  the  direction  she  gazed. 

"Come,  let  us  make  ready,"  she  said ;  "they  are  be- 
ginning." 

The  Egyptian  masters  over  Israel  of  Pa-Ramesu 
were  emerging  from  the  quarters.  They  were,  almost 
uniformly,  tall,  slender  and  immature  in  figure. 
Dressed  in  the  foot-soldier's  tunic  and  coif,  they 
lookejd  like  long-limbed  youths  compared  with  the 
powerful  manhood  of  the  sons  of  Abraham. 

Among  them,  in  white  wool  and  enameled  aprons, 
was  a  number  of  scribes,  without  whom  the  official 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  15 

machinery  of  Egypt  would  have  stilled  in  a  single 
revolution. 

The  men  advanced,  sauntering,  talking  with  one  an- 
other idly,  as  if  awaiting  authority  to  proceed. 

That  came,  presently,  in  the  shape  of  an  Egyptian 
charioteer.  The  vehicle  was  heavy,  short-poled,  set 
low  on  two  broad  wheels  of  six  spokes,  and  built  of 
hard  wood,  painted  in  wedge-shaped  stripes  of  green 
and  red.  The  end  was  open,  the  front  high  and  curved, 
the  side  fitted  with  a  boot  of  woven  reeds  for  the  ax 
and  javelins  of  the  warrior.  Axle  and  pole  were  shod 
with  spikes  of  copper  and  the  joints  were  secured  with 
tongues  of  bronze.  The  horses  were  bay,  small,  short, 
glossy  and  long  of  mane  and  tail.  The  harness  was 
simple,  each  piece  as  broad  as  a  man's  arm,  stamped 
and  richly  stained  with  many  colors. 

The  man  was  an  ideal  soldier  of  Egypt.  He  was 
tall  and  broad-shouldered,  but  otherwise  lean  and 
lithe.  In  countenance,  he  was  dark, — browner  than 
most  Egyptians,  but  with  that  peculiar  ruddy  swarthi- 
ness  that  is  never  the  negro  hue.  His  duskiness  was 
accentuated  by  low  and  intensely  black  brows,  and 
deep-set,  heavy-lidded  eyes.  Although  his  features 
were  marked  by  the  delicacy  characteristic  of  the 
Egyptian  face,  there  was  none  of  the  Oriental  affa- 
bility to  be  found  thereon.  One  might  expect  deeds 
of  him,  but  never  words  or  wit. 

He  wore  the  Egyptian  smock,  or  kamis — of  dark 
linen,  open  in  front  from  belt  to  hem,  disclosing 
a  kilt  or  shenti  of  clouded  enamel.  His  head-dress  was 
the  kerchief  of  linen,  bound  tightly  across  the  forehead 
and  falling  with  free-flowing  skirts  to  the  shoulders. 


16  THE   YOKE 

The  sleeves  left  off  at  the  elbow  and  his  lower  arms 
were  clasped  with  bracelets  of  ivory  and  gold.  His 
ankles  were  similarly  adorned,  and  his  sandals  of  ga- 
zelle-hide were  beaded  and  stitched.  His  was  a  somber 
and  barbaric  presence.  This  was  Atsu,  captain  of  char- 
iots and  vice-commander  over  Pa-Ramesu. 

His  subordinates  parted  and  gave  him  respectful 
path.  He  delivered  his  orders  in  an  impassive,  low- 
pitched  monotone. 

"Out  with  them,  and  mark  ye,  no  lashes  now.  Leave 
the  old  and  the  nursing  mothers." 

The  drivers  disappeared  into  the  narrow  ways  of 
the  encampment,  and  Atsu,  with  the  scribes  at  his 
wheels,  drove  out  where  the  avenue  of  sphinxes  would 
have  led  to  the  temple  of  Imhotep.  Here  was  room 
for  three  thousand.  He  alighted  and,  with  the  scribes 
who  stood,  tablets  in  hand,  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
Israelites. 

The  camp  emptied  its  dwellers  in  long  wavering 
lines.  Into  the  open  they  came,  slowly,  and  with 
downcast  eyes,  each  with  his  remnant  of  a  tribe. 
Though  the  columns  were  in  order,  they  were  ragged 
with  many  and  varied  statures— now  a  grown  man, 
next  to  him  a  child,  and  then  a  woman.  Here  were 
the  red-bearded  sons  of  Reuben,  shepherds  in  skins 
and  men  of  great  hardihood;  the  seafaring  children 
of  Zebulon;  a  handful  of  submissive  Issachar,  and 
some  of  Benjamin,  Levi,  and  Judah. 

"Do  we  not  leave  the  aged  behind  ?"  the  scribe  asked, 
indicating  Deborah  who  came  with  Judah. 

"Give  her  her  way,"  Atsu  replied  indifferently,  and 
the  scribe  subsided. 

The  lines  advanced,  filling  up  the  open  with  moody 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  17 

humanity.  A  scribe  placed  himself  at  the  head  of 
each  column,  and  as  the  hindmost  Israelite  emerged 
into  the  field  the  movement  was  halted. 

If  an  eye  was  lifted,  it  shifted  rapidly  under  the 
stress  of  desperation  or  suspense.  If  any  spoke,  it 
was  the  rough  and  indifferent,  whose  words  fell  like 
blows  on  the  distressed  silence.  Many  were  visibly 
trembling,  others  had  whitened  beneath  the  tropical 
tan,  and  the  wondering  faces  of  children,  who  feared 
without  understanding,  turned  now  and  again  to 
search  for  their  elders  up  and  down  the  lines. 

The  drivers  distributed  themselves  among  the  Israel- 
ites and  each  with  a  scribe  went  methodically  along  the 
files  choosing  every  tenth. 

"Get  thee  to  my  house  and  bring  me  my  lists,"  Atsu 
said  to  the  soldier  who  was  beginning  on  Judah.  "I 
will  look  to  thy  work."  The  man  crossed  his  left 
hand  to  his  right  shoulder  and  hastened  away. 

One  by  one  nine  Israelites  dropped  out  of  line  as 
Atsu  numbered  them  and  returned  to  camp.  He 
touched  the  tenth. 

"Name?"  the  scribe  asked. 

"Deborah,"  was  the  reply. 

Meanwhile  Atsu  walked  rapidly  down  the  line  to 
Rachel.  The  Hebrews  fell  out  as  he  passed,  and  the 
relief  on  the  faces  of  one  or  two  was  mingled  with 
astonishment.  He  paused  before  the  girl,  hesitating. 
Words  did  not  rise  readily  to  his  lips  at  any  time;  at 
this  moment  he  was  especially  at  loss. 

"Thou  canst  abide  here,  in  perfect  security — with 
me,"  he  said  at  last.  She  shook  her  head.  "I  thank 
thee,  my  good  master." 

"For  thy  sake,  not  mine  own,  I  would  urge  thee,"' 


18  THE   YOKE 

he  continued  with  an  unnatural  steadiness.  "Thou 
canst  accept  of  me  the  safety  of  marriage.  Nothing 
more  shall  I  offer — or  demand." 

The  color  rushed  over  the  girl's  face,  but  he  went  on 
evenly. 

"A  part  go  to  Silsilis,  another  to  Syene,  a  third 
to  Masaarah.  If  thine  insulter  asks  concerning  thy 
whereabouts  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  to  remember. 
But  what  shall  keep  him  from  searching  for  thee — 
and  are  there  any  like  to  defend  thee,  if  he  find  thee, 
seeing  I  am  not  there  ?  And  even  if  thou  art  securely 
hidden,  thou  hast  never  dreamed  how  heavy  is  the  life 
of  the  stone-pits,  Rachel." 

"Keep  Deborah  here,"  the  girl  besought  him,  dis- 
tressed.   "She  is  old  and  will  perish — " 

"Nay,  I  will  not  send  thee  out  alone,"  was  the  reply. 
"If  thou  goest,  so  must  she.    But — hast  thou  no  fear  ?" 

Once  again  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  trust  to  the  triumph  of  the  good,"  she  replied 
earnestly. 

The  sound  of  the  scribe's  approach  behind  him, 
moved  him  on. 

"Farewell,"  he  said  as  he  went,  and  added  no  more, 
for  his  composure  failed  him. 

"The  grace  of  the  Lord  God  attend  thee,"  she  whis- 
pered.   "Farewell." 

All  the  morning  the  work  went  on,  and  when  the 
Egyptian  mid-winter  noon  lay  warm  on  the  flat  coun- 
try, three  hundred  Israelites  were  ready  for  the  long 
march  to  the  Nile.  They  left  behind  them  a  camp 
oppressed  with  that  heart-soreness,  which  affliction 
added  to  old  afflictions  brings, — the  numb  ache  of  sor- 
row, not  its  lively  pain.    Only  Deborah,  the  childless, 


CHOOSING   THE   TENS  19 

and  Rachel,  the  motherless,  went  with  lighter  hearts, 
— if  hearts  can  be  light  that  go  forward  to  meet  the 
unknown  fortunes  of  bond-people. 

As  they  moved  out,  one  of  the  older  Hebrews  in  the 
forward  ranks  began  to  sing,  in  a  wild  recitative  chant, 
of  Canaan  and  the  freedom  of  Israel.  The  elders  in 
the  line  near  him  took  it  up  and  every  face  in  the  long 
column  lighted  and  was  lifted  in  silent  concord  with 
the  singers.  Atsu  in  his  chariot,  close  by,  scanned 
his ;  lists  absorbedly,  but  one  of  the  drivers  hurried 
forward  with  a  demand  for  silence.  A  young  Hebrew, 
who  had  tramped  in  agitated  silence  just  ahead,  worked 
up  into  recklessness  by  the  fervor  of  the  singers,  de- 
fied him.     His  voice  rang  clear  above  the  song. 

"Go  to,  thou  bald-faced  idolater!  Israel  will  cease 
to  do  thy  bidding  one  near  day." 

The  driver  forced  his  way  into  the  front  ranks  and 
began  to  lay  about  him  with  his  knout.  Instantly  he 
was  cast  forth  by  a  dozen  brawny  arms. 

"Mutiny!"  he  bawled. 

A  group  of  drivers  reinforced  him  at  once. 

"By  Bast,"  the  foremost  cried,  as  he  came  running. 
"The  sedition  of  the  renegade,  Mesu,*  bears  early 
fruit !" 

But  the  spirit  of  rebellion  became  contagious  and 
the  men  of  Israel  began  to  throw  themselves  out  of 
line.  At  this  moment,  Atsu  seemed  to  become  con- 
scious of  the  riot  and  drove  his  horses  between  the 
combatants.  ■ 

"Into  ranks  with  you!"  he  commanded,  pressing 
forward  upon  the  Hebrews.    The  men  obeyed  sullenly. 

*Moses. 


20  THE  YOKE 

"I  have  said  there  was  to  be  no  use  of  the  knouts," 
he  said  sharply,  turning  upon  the  drivers.  "Forward 
with  them !" 

The  first  driver  muttered. 

"What  sayest  thou  ?"  Atsu  demanded. 

The  man's  mouth  opened  and  closed,  and  his  eyes 
drew  up,  evilly,  but  he  made  no  answer. 

"Forward  with  them,"  Atsu  repeated,  without  re- 
moving his  gaze  from  the  driver. 

Slowly,  and  now  silently,  the  hereditary  slaves  of 
the  Pharaoh  moved  out  of  Pa-Ramesu.  And  of  all 
the  departing  numbers  and  of  all  that  remained  be- 
hind, none  was  more  stricken  in  heart  than  Atsu,  the 
stern  taskmaster  over  Israel. 


CHAPTER  II 

UNDER  BAN   OF  THE  RITUAL 

Holy  Memphis,  city  of  Apis,  habitat  of  Ptah ! 

Not  idly  was  she  called  Menefer,  the  Good  Place. 
Not  anywhere  in  Egypt  were  the  winds  more  gentle, 
the  heavens  more  benign,  the  environs  more  august. 

To  the  south  and  west  of  her,  the  Libyan  hills 
notched  the  horizon.  To  the  east  the  bald  summits  of 
the  Arabian  desert  cut  off  the  traveling  sand  in  its 
march  on  the  capital.  To  the  north  was  a  shimmer- 
ing level  that  stretched  unbroken  to  the  sea.  Set  upon 
this  at  mid-distance,  the  pyramids  uplifted  their  stu- 
pendous forms.  In  the  afternoon  they  assumed  the 
blue  of  the  atmosphere  and  appeared  indistinct,  but 
in  the  morning  the  polished  sides  that  faced  the  east 
reflected  the  sun's  rays  in  dazzling  sheets  across  the 
valley. 

Out  of  a  crevice  between  the  heights  to  the  south  the 
broad  blue  Nile  rolled,  sweeping  past  one  hundred 
and  twenty  stadia  or  sixteen  miles  of  urban  magnifi- 
cence, and  lost  itself  in  the  shimmering  sky-line  to  the 
north. 

The  city  was  walled  on  the  north,  west,  and  south, 
and  its  river-front  was  protected  by  a  mighty  dike, 
built  by  Menes,  the  first  king  of  the  first  dynasty  in 

21 


22  THE   YOKE 

the  hour  of  chronological  daybreak.  Within  were 
orderly  squares,  cross-cut  by  avenues  and  relieved 
from  monotony  by  scattered  mosaics  of  groves.  Out 
of  these  shady  demesnes  rose  the  great  white  temples 
of  Ptah  and  Apis,  and  the  palaces  of  the  various 
Memphian  Pharaohs. 

About  these,  the  bazaars  and  residences,  fagade 
above  fagade,  and  tier  upon  tier,  as  the  land  sloped 
up  to  its  center,  shone  fair  and  white  under  a  cloudless 
sun. 

Memphis  was  at  the  pinnacle  of  her  greatness  in 
the  sixth  year  of  the  reign  of  the  divine  Meneptah. 
She  had  fortified  herself  and  resisted  the  great  inva- 
sion of  the  Rebu.  Her  generals  had  done  battle  with 
him  and  brought  him  home,  chained  to  their  chariots. 

And  after  the  festivities  in  celebration  of  her  prow- 
ess, she  laid  down  pike  and  falchion,  bull-hide  shield 
and  helmet,  and  took  up  the  chisel  and  brush,  the 
spindle  and  loom  once  more. 

The  heavy  drowsiness  of  a  mid-winter  noon  had 
depopulated  her  booths  and  bazaars  and  quieted  the 
quaint  traffic  of  her  squares.  In  the  shadows  of  the 
city  her  porters  drowsed,  and  from  the  continuous 
wall  of  houses  blankly  facing  one  another  from  either 
side  of  the  streets,  there  came  no  sound.  Each  house- 
hold sought  the  breezes  on  the  balconies  that  galleried 
the  inner  walls  of  the  courts,  or  upon  the  pillared  and 
canopied  housetops. 

Memphis  had  eaten  and  drunk  and,  sheltered  behind 
her  screens,  waited  for  the  noon  to  pass. 

Mentu,  the  king's  sculptor,  however,  had  not  availed 
himself  of  the  hour  of  ease.  He  did  not  labor  because 
he  must,  for  his  house  stood  in  the  aristocratic  portion 


UNDER   BAN    OF   THE   RITUAL         23 

of  Memphis,  and  it  was  storied,  galleried,  screened  and 
topped  with  its  breezy  pavilion.  Within  the  hollow 
space,  formed  by  the  right  and  left  wings  of  his  house, 
the  chamber  of  guests  to  the  front,  and  the  property 
wall  to  the  rear,  was  a  court  of  uncommon  beauty. 
Palm  and  tamarisk,  acacia  and  rose-shrub,  jasmine 
and  purple  mimosa  made  a  multi-tinted  jungle  about 
a  shadowy  pool  in  which  a  white  heron  stood  knee- 
deep.  There  were  long  stretches  of  sunlit  sod,  and 
walks  of  inlaid  tile,  seats  of  carved  stone,  and  a  single 
small  obelisk,  set  on  a  circular  slab,  marked  with 
measures  for  time — the  Egyptian  sun-dial.  On  every 
side  were  evidences  of  wealth  and  luxury. 

So  Mentu  labored  because  he  loved  to  toil.  In  a 
land  languorous  with  tropical  inertia,  an  enthusiastic 
toiler  is  not  common.  For  this  reason,  Mentu  was 
worth  particular  attention.  He  towered  a  palm  in 
height  over  his  Egyptian  brethren,  and  his  massive 
frame  was  entirely  in  keeping  with  his  majestic  stat- 
ure. He  was  nearly  fifty  years  of  age,  but  no  sign  of 
the  early  decay  of  the  Oriental  was  apparent  in  him. 
His  was  the  characteristic  refinement  of  feature  that 
marks- the  Egyptian  countenance,  further  accentuated 
by  self-content  and  some  hauteur.  The  idea  of  dignity 
was  carried  out  in  his  dress.  The  kilt  was  not  visible, 
for  the  kamis  had  become  a  robe,  long-sleeved,  high- 
necked  and  belted  with  a  broad  band  of  linen,  encom- 
passing the  body  twice,  before  it  was  fastened  with  a 
fibula  of  massive  gold. 

That  he  was  an  artisan  noble  was  another  peculiarity, 
but  it  was  proof  of  exceptional  merit.  He  had  de- 
scended from  a  long  line  of  royal  sculptors,  heighten- 
ing in  genius  in  the  last  three.     His  grandsire  had 


24  THE   YOKE 

elaborated  Karnak;  his  father  had  decorated  the 
Rameseum,  but  Mentu  had  surpassed  the  glory  of  his 
ancestors.  In  the  years  of  his  youth,  side  by  side  with 
the  great  Rameses,  he  had  planned  and  brought  to 
perfection  the  mightiest  monument  to  Egyptian  sculp- 
ture, the  rock-carved  temple  of  Ipsambul.  In  recog-  < 
nition  of  this  he  had  been  given  to  wife  a  daughter 
of  the  Pharaoh  and  raised  to  a  rank  never  before 
occupied  by  a  king's  sculptor.  He  was  second  only 
to  the  fan-bearers,  the  most  powerful  nobles  of  the 
realm,  and  at  par  with  the  murket,  or  royal  architect, 
who  was  usually  chosen  from  among  the  princes.  And 
yet  he  had  but  come  again  to  his  own  when  he  entered 
the  ranks  of  peerage.  In'  the  long  line  of  his  ancestors 
he  counted  a  king,  and  from  that  royal  sire  he  had  his 
stature. 

He  sat  before  a  table  covered  with  tools  of  his  craft, 
rolls  of  papyrus,  pens  of  reeds,  pots  of  ink  of  various 
colors,  horns  of  oil,  molds  and  clay  images  and  ves- 
sels of  paint.  Hanging  upon  pegs  in  the  wooden 
walls  of  his  work-room  were  saws  and  the  heavier 
drills,  chisels  of  bronze  and  mauls  of  tamarisk,  sus- 
pended by  thongs  of  deer-hide. 

The  sculptor,  rapidly  and  without  effort,  worked  out 
with  his  pen  on  a  sheet  of  papyrus  the  detail  of  a 
frieze.  Tiny  profile  figures,  quaint  borders  of  lotus 
and  mystic  inscriptions  trailed  after  the  swift  reed  in 
multitudinous  and  bewildering  succession.  As  he 
worked,  a  young  man  entered  the  doorway  from  the 
court  and,  advancing  a  few  steps  toward  the  table, 
watched  the  development  of  the  drawings  with  inter- 
est. 

Those  were  the  days  of  early  maturity  and  short  life. 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         2$ 

The  Egyptian  of  the  Exodus  often  married  at  sixteen, 
and  was  full  of  years  and  ready  to  be  gathered  to 
Osiris  at  fifty-five  or  sixty.  The  great  Rameses  lived 
to  the  unheard-of  age  of  seventy-seven,  having  occu- 
pied the  throne  since  his  eleventh  year. 

This  young  Egyptian,  nearly  eighteen,  was  grown 
and  powerful  with  the  might  of  mature  manhood.  A 
glance  at  the  pair  at  once  established  their  relation- 
ship as  father  and  son.  The  features  were  strikingly 
similar,  the  stature  the  same,  though  the  young  frame 
was  supple  and  light,  not  massive. 

The  hair  was  straight,  abundant,  brilliant  black  and 
cropped  midway  down  the  neck  and  just  above  the 
brows.  There  was  no  effort  at  parting.  It  was 
dressed  from  the  crown  of  the  head  as  each  hair 
would  naturally  lie  and  was  confined  by  a  circlet  of 
gold,  the  token  of  the  royal  blood  of  his  mother's 
house.  The  complexion  was  the  hue  of  a  healthy 
tan,  different,  however,  from  the  brown  of  exposure 
in  that  it  was  transparent  and  the  red  in  the  cheek  was 
dusky.  The  face  was  the  classic  type  of  the  race,  for 
be  it  known  there  were  two  physiognomies  character- 
istic of  Egypt. 

The  forehead  was  broad,  the  brows  long  and  deli- 
cately penciled,  the  eyes  softly  black,  very  long,  the 
lids  heavy  enough  to  suggest  serenity  rather  than  lan- 
guor. The  nose  was  of  good  length,  aquiline,  the 
nostril  thin  and  sharply  chiseled.  The  cut  of  the 
mouth  and  the  warmth  of  its  color  gave  seriousness, 
sensitiveness  and  youthful  tenderness  to  the  face. 

Egypt  was  seldom  athletic.  Though  running  and 
wrestling  figured  much  in  the  pastime  of  youths,  the 
nation  was  languid  and  soft.    However,  Seti  the  Elder 


2.6  THE   YOKE 

demanded  the  severest  physical  exercise  of  his  sons, 
and  Rameses  II,  who  succeeded  him,  made  muscle  and 
brawn  popular  by  example,  during  his  reign.  Here, 
then,  was  an  instance  of  king-mimicking  that  was  ad- 
mirable. 

Originally  the  young  man  had  been  gifted  with 
breadth  of  shoulder,  depth  of  chest,  health  and  vigor. 
He  would  have  been  strong  had  he  never  vaulted  a 
pole  or  run  a  mile.  To  these  advantages  were  added 
the  results  of  wise  and  thorough  training,  so  wise,  so 
thorough,  that  defects  in  the  national  physique  had 
been  remedied.  Thus,  the  calves  were  stanch  and 
prominent,  whereas  ancient  Egypt  was  as  flat-legged 
as  the  negro;  the  body  was  round  and  tapered  with 
proper  athletic  rapidity  from  shoulder  to  heel,  with- 
out any  sign  of  the  lank  attenuation  that  was  char- 
acteristic of  most  of  his  countrymen. 

The  suggestion  of  his  presence  was  power  and 
bigness,  not  the  good-natured  size  that  is  hulking  and 
awkward,  but  bigness  that  is  elegant  and  fine-fibered 
and  ages  into  magnificence. 

He  wore  a  tunic  of  white  linen,  the  finely  plaited 
skirt  reaching  almost  to  the  knees.  The  belt  was  of 
leather,  three  fingers  in  breadth  and  ornamented  with 
metal  pieces,  small,  round  and  polished.  His  sandals 
were  of  white  gazelle-hide,  stitched  with  gold,  and, 
by  way  of  ornament,  he  had  but  a  single  armlet,  and 
a  collar,  consisting  of  ten  golden  rings,  depending  by 
eyelets  from  a  flexible  band  of  the  same  material.  The 
metal  was  unpolished  and  its  lack-luster  red  harmon- 
ized wonderfully  with  the  bronze  throat  it  clasped. 

Diminutive  Isis  in  profile  had  emerged  part-way 
from  the  background  of  papyrus,  and  the  sculptor  lifted 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         27 

his  pen  to  sketch  in  the  farther  shoulder  as  the  law  re- 
quired. The  young  man  leaned  forward  and  watched. 
But  as  the  addition  was  made,  giving  to  the  otherwise 
shapely  little  goddess  an  uncomfortable  but  thoroughly 
orthodox  twist,  he  frowned  slightly.  After  a  mo- 
ment's silence  he  came  to  the  bench. 

"Hast  thou  caught  some  great  idea  on  the  wing  or 
hast  thou  the  round  of  actual  labor  to  perform?"  he 
asked. 

His  attention  thus  hailed,  the  sculptor  raised  him- 
self and  answered : 

"Meneptah  hath  a  temple  to  Set*  in  mind ;  indeed 
he  hath  stirred  up  the  quarries  for  the  stone,  I  am  told, 
and  I  am  making  ready,  for  I  shall  be  needed." 

The  older  a  civilization,  the  smoother  its  speech. 
Age  refines  the  vowels  and  makes  the  consonants 
suave.  They  spoke  easily,  not  hastily,  but  as  oil  flows, 
continuously  and  without  ripple.  The  younger  voice 
was  deep,  soft  enough  to  have  been  wooing  and  as 
musical  as  a  chant. 

"Would  that  the  work  were  as  probable  as  thou  art 
hopeful,"  the  young  man  said  with  a  sigh. 

"Out  upon  thee,  idler !"  was  the  warm  reply.  "Art 
thou  come  to  vex  me  with  thy  doubts  and  scout  thy 
sovereign's  pious  intentions  ?"  The  young  man  smiled. 

"Hath  the  sun  shone  on  architecture  or  sculpture 
since  Meneptah  succeeded  to  the  throne  ?"  he  asked. 

Mentu's  eyes  brightened  wrathfully  but  the  young 
man  laid  a  soothing  palm  over  the  hand  that  gripped 
the  reed. 

"I  do  not  mock  thee,  father.     Rather  am  I  full  of 

*Set — the  war-god. 


28  THE   YOKE 

sympathy  for  thee.  Thou  mindest  me  of  a  war-horse, 
stabled,  with  his  battle-love  unsatisfied,  hearing-  in 
every  whimper  of  the  wind  a  trumpet  call.  Nay,  I 
would  to  Osiris  that  the  Pharaoh's  intents  were  per- 
manent." 

Somewhat  mollified,  Mentu  put  away  the  detaining 
hand  and  went  on  with  his  work.  Presently  the  young 
man  spoke  again. 

"I  came  to  speak  further  of  the  signet,"  he  said. 

"Aye,  but  what  signet,  Kenkenes?" 

"The  signet  of  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh." 

"What !  after  three  years  ?" 

"The  sanctuary  of  the  tomb  is  never  entered  and  it 
is  more  than  worth  the  journey  to  Tape*  to  search  for 
the  scarab  again." 

"But  you  would  search  in  vain,"  the  sculptor  de- 
clared.    "Rameses  has  reclaimed  his  own." 

Kenkenes  shifted  his  position  and  protested. 

"But  we  made  no  great  search  for  it.  How  may  we 
know  of  a  surety  if  it  be  gone  ?" 

"Because  of  thy  sacrilege,"  was  the  prompt  and 
forcible  reply.  "Osiris  with  chin  in  hand  and  a  look 
of  mystification  on  his  brow,  pondering  over  the  mis- 
deeds of  a  soul !  Mystification  on  Osiris !  And  with 
that,  thou  didst  affront  the  sacred  walls  of  the  royal 
tomb  and  call  it  the  Judgment  of  the  Dead.  Not  one 
law  of  the  sculptor's  ritual  but  thou  hadst  broken,  in 
the  sacrilegious  fresco.  Gods !  I  marvel  that  the  rock 
did  not  crumble  under  the  first  bite  of  thy  chisel !" 

Mentu  fell  to  his  work  again.  While  he  talked  a 
small  ape  entered  the  room  and,  discovering  the  paint- 

*Thebes. 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         29 

pots,  proceeded  to  decorate  his  person  with  a  liberal 
hand.  At  this  moment  Kenkenes  became  aware  of 
him  and,  by  an  accurately  aimed  lump  of  clay,  drove  the 
meddler  out  with  a  show  of  more  asperity  than  the 
offense  would  ordinarily  excite.  Meanwhile  the  sculp- 
tor wetted  his  pen  and,  poising  it  over  the  plans,  re- 
garded his  drawings  with  half-closed  eyes.  Then,  as 
if  he  read  his  words  on  the  papyrus  he  proceeded :  v  • 

"Thou  wast  not  ignorant.  All  thy  life  hast  thou 
had  the  decorous  laws  of  the  ritual  before  thee.  And 
there,  in  the  holy  precincts  of  the  Incomparable 
Pharaoh's  tomb,  with  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime 
at  hand,  the  skill  of  thy  fathers  in  thy  fingers,  thou 
didst  execute  an  impious  whim, — an  unheard-of  apos- 
tasy." He  broke  off  suddenly,  changing  his  tone. 
"What  if  the  priesthood  had  learned  of  the  deed  ?  The 
Hathors  be  praised  that  they  did  not  and  that  no  heav- 
ier punishment  than  the  loss  of  the  signet  is  ours." 

"But  it  may  have  caught  on  thy  chisel  and  broken 
from  its  fastening.  Thou  dost  remember  that  the  floor 
was  checkered  with  deep  black  shadows." 

"The  hand  of  the  insulted  Pharaoh  reached  out  of 
Amenti*  and  stripped  it  off  my  neck,"  Mentu  replied 
sternly.  "And  consider  what  I  and  all  of  mine  who 
come  after  me  lost  in  that  foolish  act  of  thine.  It 
was  a  token  of  special  favor  from  Rameses,  a  mark 
of  appreciation  of  mine  art,  and,  more  than  all,  a  signet 
that  I  or  mine  might  present  to  him  or  his  successor 
and  win  royal  good  will  thereby." 

"That  I  know  right  well,"  Kenkenes  interrupted  with 

*Amenti — The  realm  of  Death. 


30  THE   YOKE 

an  anxious  note  in  his  voice,  "and  for  that  reason  am 
I  possessed  to  go  after  it  to  Tape." 

The  sculptor  lifted  a  stern  face  to  his  son  and  said, 
with  emphasis:  "Wilt  thou  further  offend  the  gods, 
thou  impious  ?  It  is  not  there,  and  vex  me  no  further 
concerning  it." 

Kenkenes  lifted  one  of  his  brows  with  an  air  of  en- 
forced patience,  and  sauntered  across  the  room  to 
another  table  similarly  equipped  for  plan-making. 
But  he  did  not  concern  himself  with  the  papyrus 
spread  thereon.  Instead  he  dropped  on  the  bench, 
and  crossing  his  shapely  feet  before  him,  gazed 
straight  up  at  the  date-tree  rafters  and  palm-leaf  in- 
terbraiding  of  the  ceiling. 

Though  the  law  of  heredity  is  not  trustworthy  in  the 
transmission  of  greatness,  Kenkenes  was  the  product 
of  three  generations  of  heroic  genius.  He  might  have 
developed  the  frequent  example  of  decadence;  he 
might  have  sustained  the  excellence  of  his  fathers' 
gift,  but  he  could  not  surpass  them  in  the  methods  of 
their  school  of  sculpture  and  its  results.  There  was 
one  way  in  which  he  might  excel,  and  he  was  born 
with  his  feet  in  that  path.  His  genius  was  too  large 
for  the  limits  of  his  era.  Therefore  he  was  an  artistic 
dissenter,  a  reformer  with  noble  ideals. 

Mimetic  art  as  applied  to  Egyptian  painting  and 
sculpture  was  a  curious  misnomer.  Probably  no  other 
nation  of  the  world  at  that  time  was  so  devoted  to  it, 
and  certainly  no  other  people  of  equal  advancement 
of  that  or  any  other  time  so  wilfully  ignored  the 
simplest  rules  of  proportion,  perspective  and  form. 
The  sculptor's  ability  to  suggest  majesty  and  repose, 
and  at  the  same  time  ignore  anatomical  construction, 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         31 

was  wonderful.  To  preserve  the  features  and  indi- 
vidual characteristics  of  a  model  and  obey  the  rules 
of  convention  was  a  feat  to  be  achieved  only  by  an 
Egyptian.  There  was  no  lack  of  genius  in  him,  but 
he  had  been  denied  liberty  of  execution  until  he  knew 
no  other  forms  but  those  his  fathers  followed  genera- 
tions before. 

All  Egypt  was  but  a  padding  that  the  structural 
framework  of  religion  supported.  Science,  art,  litera- 
ture, government,  commerce,  whatever  the  member, 
it  was  built  upon  a  bone  of  religion.  The  processes 
and  uses  of  sculpture  were  controlled  by  the  sculptor's 
ritual  and  woe  unto  him  who  departed  therefrom  in 
depicting  the  gods !    The  deed  was  sacrilege. 

In  the  portrait-forms  the  limits  were  less  severely 
drawn.  There  were  a  dozen  permissible  attitudes,  and 
the  characteristic  features  might  be  represented  with 
all  fidelity ;  but  there  were  boundaries  that  might  not 
be  overstepped.  The  result  was  an  artistic  perver- 
sion that  well-nigh  perpetrated  a  grotesque  slander 
on  the  personal  appearance  of  the  race. 

After  the  manner  of  Egyptians  it  was  understood 
that  Kenkenes  was  to  follow  his  father's  calling,  and 
ahead  of  him  were  years  of  labor  laid  in  narrow  lines. 
If  he  rebelled,  he  incurred  infinite  difficulty  and  oppo- 
sition, and  yet  he  could  not  wholly  submit.  He  had 
been  an  apt  and  able  pupil  during  the  long  process  of 
his  instruction,  but  when  the  moment  of  actual  prac- 
tice of  his  art  arrived,  he  had  rebelled.  His  first  work 
had  been  his  last  and,  in  the  estimation  of  his  father, 
had  entailed  a  grievous  loss.  Thereafter  he  had  been 
limited  to  copying  the  great  sculptor's  plans,  the  work 
of  scribes  and  underlings. 


32  THE   YOKE 

Thus,  he  had  passed  three  years  that  chafed  him 
because  of  their  comparative  idleness  and  their  implied 
rebuke.  The  pressure  finally  became  too  great,  and 
he  began  to  weigh  the  matter  of  compromise.  If  he 
could  secretly  satisfy  his  own  sense  of  the  beautiful 
he  might  follow  the  ritual  with  grace. 

His  cogitations,  as  he  sat  before  his  table,  assumed 
form  and  purpose. 

Presently  Mentu,  raising  his  head,  noted  that  the 
shadows  were  falling  aslant  the  court.  With  an  in- 
terested but  inarticulate  remark,  he  dropped  his  pen 
among  its  fellows  in  an  earthenware  tray,  his  plans 
into  an  open  chest,  and  went  out  across  the  court, 
entering  an  opposite  door. 

With  his  father's  exit,  Kenkenes  shifted  his  position, 
and  the  expression  of  deep  thought  grew  on  his  face. 
After  a  long  interval  of  motionless  absorption  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and,  catching  a  wallet  of  stamped 
and  dyed  leather  from  the  wall,  spread  it  open  on 
the  table.  Chisel,  mallet,  tape  and  knife,  he  put  into 
it,  and  dropped  wallet  and  all  into  a  box  near-by  at 
the  sound  of  the  sculptor's  footsteps. 

The  great  artist  reentered  in  court  robes  of  creamy 
linen,  stiff  with  embroidery  and  gold  stitching. 

"Har-hat  passes  through  Memphis  to-day  on  his 
way  to  Tape,  where  he  is  to  be  installed  as  bearer  of 
the  king's  fan  on  the  right  hand.  He  is  at  the  palace, 
and  nobles  of  the  city  go  thither  to  wait  upon  him." 

"The  king  was  not  long  in  choosing  a  successor  to 
the  lamented  Amset,"  Kenkenes  observed.  "Har-hat 
vaults  loftily  from  the  nomarchship  of  Bubastis  to  an 
advisership  to  the  Pharaoh." 

"Rather  hath  his  ascent  been  slower  than  his  deserts. 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         33 

How  had  the  Rebu  war  ended  had  it  not  been  for 
Har-hat?  He  is  a  great  warrior,  hath  won  honor  for 
Egypt  and  for  Meneptah.  The  army  would  follow 
him  into  the  jaws  of  Tuat,*  and  Rameses,  the  heir, 
need  never  take  up  arms,  so  long  as  Har-hat  com- 
mands the  legions  of  Egypt.  But  how  the  warrior  will 
serve  as  minister  is  yet  to  be  seen." 

"Who  succeeds  him  over  Bubastis  ?" 

"Merenra,  another  of  the  war-tried  generals.  He 
hath  been  commander  over  Pa-Ramesu.  Atsu  takes 
his  place  over  the  Israelites." 

"Atsu  ?"  Kenkenes  mused.    "I  know  him  not." 

"He  is  a  captain  of  chariots,  and  won  much  distinc- 
tion during  the  Rebu  invasion.  He  is  a  native  of 
Mendes." 

Left  alone,  Kenkenes  crossed  the  court  to  the  door 
his  father  had  entered  and  emerged  later  in  a  street 
dress  of  mantle  and  close-fitting  coif.  He  took  up  the 
wallet  and  quitted  the  room.  Passing  through  the 
intramural  park  and  the  chamber  of  guests,  he  entered 
the  street.  It  was  a  narrow,  featureless  passage, 
scarcely  wide  enough  to  give  room  for  a  chariot.  The 
brown  dust  had  more  prints  of  naked  than  of  sandaled 
feet,  for  most  men  of  the  young  sculptor's  rank  went 
abroad  in  chariots. 

Once  out  of  the  passage,  he  turned  across  the  city 
toward  the  east.  Memphis  had  pushed  aside  her 
screens  and  shaken  out  her  tapestries  after  the  noon 
rest  and  was  deep  in  commerce  once  again.  From  the 
low  balconies  overhead  the  Damascene  carpets  swung, 
lending  festivity  to  the  energetic  traffic  below.     The 

*Tuat — The  Egyptian  Hades. 


34  THE   YOKE 

pillars  of  stacked  ware  flanking  the  fronts  of  pottery 
shops  were  in  a  constant  state  of  wreckage  and  re- 
construction;  the  stalls  of  fruiterers  perfumed  the  air 
with  crushed  and  over-ripe  produce ;  litters  with  dark- 
eyed  occupants  and  fan-bearing  attendants  stood  be- 
fore the  doorways  of  lapidaries  and  booths  of  stuffs ; 
venders  of  images,  unguents,  trinkets  and  wines  strove 
to  outcry  one  another  or  the  poulterer's  squawking 
stall.  Kenkenes  met  frequent  obstructions  and  was 
forced  to  reduce  his.  rapid  pace.  Curricles  and  char- 
iots and  wicker  chairs  halted  him  at  many  crossings. 
Carriers  took  up  much  of  the  narrow  streets  with  large 
burdens;  notaries  and  scribes  sat  cross-legged  on  the 
pavement,  surrounded  by  their  patrons  and  clients, 
and  beggars  and  fortune-tellers  strove  for  the  young 
man's  attention.  The  crowd  thickened  and  thinned 
and  grew  again ;  pigeons  winnowed  fearlessly  down  to 
the  roadway  dust,  and  a  distant  yapping  of  dogs  came 
down  the  slanting  street.  At  times  Kenkenes  en- 
countered whole  troops  of  sacred  cats  that  wandered 
about  the  city,  monarchs  over  the  monarch  himself. 
By  crowding  into  doorways  he  allowed  these  pam- 
pered felines  to  pass  undisturbed. 

In  the  district  near  the  lower  edge  of  the  city  he 
met  the  heavy  carts  of  rustics,  laden  with  cages  of 
geese  and  crates  of  produce,  moving  slowly  in  from 
the  wide  highways  of  the  Memphian  nome.  The  broad 
backs  of  the  oxen  were  gray  with  dust  and  their 
drivers  were  masked  in  grime. 

The  smell  of  the  river  became  insistent.  In  the  open 
stalls  the  fishmongers  had  their  naked  brood  keeping 
the  flies  away  from  the  stock  with  leafy  branches.  The 
limits  of  Memphis  ended  precipitately  at  a  sudden 


UNDER   BAN    OF   THE   RITUAL         35 

slope.  In  the  long  descent  to  the  Nile  there  were  few 
permanent  structures.  Half-way  down  were  great 
lengths  of  high  platform  built  upon  acacia  piling.  This 
was  the  flood-tide  wharf,  but  it  was  used  now  only  by 
loiterers,  who  lay  upon  it  to  bask  dog-like  in  the  sun. 
The  long  intervening  stretch  between  the  builded  city 
and  the  river  was  covered  with  boats  and  river-men. 
Fishers  mending  nets  were  grouped  together,  but  they 
talked  with  one  another  as  if  each  were  a  furlong 
away  from  his  fellow.  Freight  bearers,  emptying  the 
newly-arrived  vessels  of  cargo,  staggered  up  toward 
the  city.  Now  and  again  sledges  laden  with  ponderous 
burdens  were  drawn  through  the  sand  by  yokes  of 
oxen,  oftener  by  scores  of  men,  on  whom  the  drivers 
did  not  hesitate  to  lay  the  lash. 

River  traffic  was  carried  on  far  below  the  flood-tide 
wharf.  Here  the  ldng  landings  of  solid  masonry,  cov- 
ered with  deep  water  four  months  of  the  year,  were 
lined  with  vessels.  Between  yard-arms  hanging  aslant 
and  over  decks,  glimpses  of  the  Nile  might  be  caught. 
It  rippled  passively  between  its  banks,  for  it  was  yet 
seven  months  before  the  first  showing  of  the  June 
rise.  Here  were  the  frail  papyrus  bari,  constructed 
like  a  raft  and  no  more  concave  than  a  long  bow; 
the  huge  cedar-masted  cangias,  flat-bottomed  and 
slow-moving ;  the  ancient  dhow  with  its  shapeless  tent- 
cabin  aft ;  the  ponderous  cattle  barges  and  freight  ves- 
sels built  of  rough-hewn  logs ;  the  light  passenger 
skiffs ;  and  lastly,  the  sumptuous  pleasure-boats. 
These  were  elaborate  and  beautiful,  painted  and  pan- 
eled, ornamented  with  garlands  and  sheaves  of  carved 
lotus,  and  spread  with  sails,  checkered  and  embroid- 
ered in  many  colors.    From  these  emerged  processions 


36  THE   YOKE 

of  parties  returning  from  pleasure  trips  up  the  Nile. 
They  came  with  much  pomp  and  following,  asserting 
themselves  and  proceeding  through  paths  made  ready 
for  them  by  the  obsequious  laboring  classes. 

Presently  there  approached  a  corps  of  servants,  bear- 
ing bundles  of  throw-sticks,  nets,  two  or  three  fox- 
headed  cats,  bows  and  arrows,  strings  of  fish  and 
hampers  of  fowl.  Behind,  on  the  shoulders  of  four 
stalwart  bearers,  came  a  litter,  fluttering  with  gay- 
colored  hangings.  Beside  it  walked  an  Egyptian  of 
high  class.  Suddenly  the  bearers  halted,  and  a  little 
hand,  imperious  and  literally  aflame  with  jewels, 
beckoned  Kenkenes  from  the  shady  interior  of  the 
litter. 

He  obeyed  promptly.  At  another  command  the  litter 
was  lowered  till  the  poles  were  supported  in  the  hands 
of  the  bearers.  The  curtains  were  withdrawn,  reveal- 
ing the  occupant — a  woman. 

This,  to  the  glory  of  Egypt !  Woman  was  defended, 
revered,  exalted  above  her  sisters  of  any  contemporary 
nation.  No  haremic  seclusion  for  her;  no  semi-con- 
temptuous toleration  of  her ;  no  austere  limits  laid  upon 
her  uses.  She  bared  her  face  to  the  thronging  streets ; 
she  reveled  beside  her  brother;  she  worshiped  with 
him ;  she  admitted  no  subserviency  to  her  lord  beyond 
the  pretty  deference  that  it  pleased  her  to  pay;  she 
governed  his  household  and  his  children ;  she  learned, 
she  wrote,  she  wore  the  crown.  She  might  have  a 
successor  but  no  supplanter ;  an  Egyptian  of  the  dynas- 
ties before  the  Persian  dominance  could  have  but  one 
wife  at  a  time ;  none  but  kings  could  be  profligate, 
openly.     So,  while  Babylonia  led  her  maidens  to  a 


UNDER   BAN    OF   THE   RITUAL         37 

market,  while  Ethiopia  ruled  hers  with  a  rod,  while 
Arabia  numbered  hers  among  her  she-camels,  Egypt 
gloried  in  national  chivalry  and  spiritual  love. 

This  was  the  sentiment  of  the  nation,  by  the  lips  of 
Khu-n-Aten,  the  artist  king: 

"Sweet  love  fills  my  heart  for  the  queen;  may  she 
ever  keep  the  hand  of  the  Pharaoh." 

Whatever  Egypt's  mode  of  worshiping  Khem  and 
Isis,  nothing  could  set  at  naught  this  clean,  impulsive, 
sincere  avowal. 

Here,  then,  openly  and  in  perfect  propriety  was  a 
woman  abroad  with  her  suitor. 

She  might  have  been  eighteen  years  old,  but  there 
was  nothing  girlish  in  her  gorgeous  beauty.  She  was 
a  red  rose,  full-blown. 

Her  robes  were  a  double  thickness  of  loose-meshed 
white  linen,  with  a  delicate  stripe  of  scarlet ;  her  head- 
dress a  single  swathing  of  scarlet  gauze.  She  wore  not 
one,  but  many  kinds  of  jewels,  and  her  anklets  and 
armlets  tinkled  with  fringes  of  cats  and  hawks  in 
carnelian.  Her  hair  was  brilliant  black  and  unbraided. 
Her  complexion  was  transparent,  and  the  underlying 
red  showed  deeply  in  the  small,  full-lipped  mouth ; 
like  a  stain  in  the  cheeks ;  like  a  flush  on  the  brow,  and 
even  faintly  on  the  dainty  chin.  Her  eyes  were  large 
and  black,  with  the  amorous  lid,  and  lined  with  kohl 
beneath  the  lower  lash.  Her  profile  showed  the  ex- 
quisite aquiline  of  the  pure-blooded  Egyptian. 

Aside  from  the  visible  evidences  of  charm  there  was 
an  atmosphere  of  femininity  that  permeated  her  imme- 
diate vicinity  with  a  witchery  little  short  of  enchant- 


38  THE   YOKE 

ment.  She  was  the  Lady  Ta-meri,  daughter  of  Amen- 
emhat,  nomarch*  of  Memphis. 

The  Egyptian  accompanying  the  litter  was  nearly 
thirty  years  of  age.  He  was  an  example  of  the  other 
type  of  the  race,  differing  from  the  classic  model  of 
Kenkenes.  The  forehead  retreated,  the  nose  was  long, 
low,  slightly  depressed  at  the  end;  the  mouth,  thick- 
lipped  ;  the  eye,  narrow  and  almond-shaped ;  the  cheek- 
bones, high ;  the  complexion,  dark  brown.  Still,  the 
great  ripeness  of  lip,  aggressive  whiteness  of  teeth 
and  brilliance  of  eye  made  his  face  pleasant.  He  wore 
a  shenti  of  yellow,  over  it  a  kamis  of  white  linen,  a 
kerchief  bound  with  a  yellow  cord  about  his  head,  and 
white  sandals. 

He  was  the  nephew  of  the  king's  cup-bearer,  who 
had  died  without  issue  at  Thebes  during  the  past 
month.  His  elder  brother  had  succeeded  his  father  to 
a  high  office  in  the  priesthood,  but  he,  Nechutes,  was 
a  candidate  for  the  honors  of  his  dead  uncle. 

Kenkenes  gave  the  man  a  smiling  nod  and  bent  over 
the  lady's  fingers. 

"Fie !"  was  her  greeting.  "Abroad  like  the  rabble, 
and  carrying  a  burden."  She  filliped  the  wallet  with  a 
pink-stained  finger-nail. 

"Sit  here,"  she  commanded,  patting  the  cushioned 
edge  of  the  litter. 

The  sculptor  declined  the  invitation  with  a  smile. 

"I  go  to  try  some  stone,"  he  explained. 

"Truly,  I  believe  thou  lovest  labor,"  the  lady  as- 
serted accusingly.    "Ah,  but  punishment  overtakes  thee 


*  Nomarch — governor  of  a  civil  division  called  a  nome. 
high  office. 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         39 

at  last.  Behold,  thou  mightst  have  gone  with  me  to  the 
marshes  to-day,  but  I  knew  thou  wouldst  be  as  deep  in 
labor  as  a  slave.  And  so  I  took  Nechutes." 

Kenkenes  shot  an  amused  glance  at  her  companion. 

"I  would  wager  my  mummy,  Nechutes,  that  this  is 
the  first  intimation  thou  hast  had  that  thou  wert  second 
choice,"  he  said. 

"Aye,  thou  hast  said,"  Nechutes  admitted,  his  eyes 
showing  a  sudden  light.  He  had  a  voice  of  profound 
depth  and  resonance,  that  rumbled  like  the  purring  of 
the  king's  lions.  "And  not  a  moment  since  she  swore 
that  it  was  I  who  made  her  sun  to  move,  and  that 
Tuat  itself  were  sweet  so  I  were  there." 

"O  Ma*,"  the  lady  cried,  threatening  him  with  her 
fan.    "Thou  Defender  of  Truth,  smite  him !" 

Kenkenes  laughed  with  delight. 

"Nay,  nay,  Nechutes !"  he  cried.  "Thou  dost  betray 
thyself.  Never  would  Ta-meri  have  said  anything 
so  bald.  Now,  when  she  is  moved  to  give  me  a 
honeyed  fact,  she  laps  it  with  delicate  intimation,  layer 
on  layer  like  a  lotus-bud.  And  only  under  the  warm 
interpretation  of  my  heart  will  it  unfold  and  show  the 
gold  within." 

Nechutes  stifled  a  derisive  groan,  but  the  lady's  color 
swept  up  over  her  face  and  made  it  like  the  dawn. 

"Nay,  now,"  she  protested,  "wherein  art  thou  bet- 
ter than  Nechutes,  save  in  the  manner  of  telling  thy 
calumny?  But,  Kenkenes,"  she  broke  off,  "thou  art 
wasted  in  thy  narrow  realm.  They  need  thy  gallant 
tongue  at  court." 

The  young  sculptor  made  soft  eyes  at  her. 

*Ma — The  goddess  of  truth. 


40  THE   YOKE 

"If  I  were  a  courtier,"  he  objected,  "I  must  scatter 
my  small  eloquence  among  many  beauties  that  I  would 
liefer  save  for  one." 

She  appropriated  the  compliment  at  once. 

"Thou  dost  not  hunger  after  even  that  opportunity," 
she  pouted.  "How  long  hath  it  been  since  the  halls  of 
my  father's  house  knew  thy  steps  ?  A  whole  moon !" 

"I  feared  that  I  should  find  Nechutes  there,"  Ken- 
kenes  explained. 

During  this  pretty  joust  the  brows  of  the  prospec- 
tive cup-bearer  had  knitted  blackly.  The  scowl  was 
unpropitious. 

"Thou  mayest  come  freely  now,"  he  growled. 
"The  way  shall  be  clear." 

The  lady  looked  at  him  in  mock  fear. 

"Come,  Nechutes,"  the  sculptor  implored  laughing- 
ly, "be  gracious.  Being  in  highest  favor,  it  behooves 
thee  to  be  generous." 

But  the  prospective  cup-bearer  refused  to  be  pla- 
cated. He  rumbled  an  order  to  the  slaves  and  they 
shouldered  the  litter. 

Ta-meri  made  a  pretty  mouth  at  him,  and  turned 
again  to  Kenkenes. 

"Nay,  Kenkenes,"  she  said.  "It  was  mine  to  say 
that  the  way  shall  be  clear — but  I  promise  it." 

She  nodded  a  bright  farewell  to  him,  and  they 
moved  away.  The  sculptor,  still  smiling,  continued 
down  to  the  river. 

At  the  landing  he  engaged  one  of  the  numerous 
small  boats  awaiting  a  passenger,  and  directed  the 
clout-wearing  boatman  to  drop  down  the  stream. 

Directly  opposite  his  point  of  embarkation  there 
were  farm  lands,  fertile  and  moist,  extending  inland 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         41 

for  a  mile.  But  presently  the  frontier  of  the  desert 
laid  down  a  gray  and  yellow  dead-line  over  which  no 
domestic  plant  might  strike  its  root  and  live. 

But  the  arable  tracts  were  velvet  green  with  young 
grain,  the  verdant  level  broken  here  and  there  by  a 
rustic's  hut,  under  two  or  three  close-standing  palms. 
Even  from  the  surface  of  the  Nile  the  checkered  ap- 
pearance of  the  country,  caused  by  the  various  kinds 
of  products,  was  noticeable.  Egypt  was  the  most 
fertile  land  in  the  world. 

However,  as  the  light  bari  climbed  and  dipped  on 
the  little  waves  toward  the  north  the  Arabian  hills 
began  to  approach  the  river.  Their  fronts  became 
abrupt  and  showed  the  edges  of  stratum  on  stratum  of 
white  stone.  About  their  bases  were  quantities  of 
rubble  and  gray  dust  slanting  against  their  sides  in 
slides  and  drifts.  Across  the  narrowing  strip  of  fer- 
tility square  cavities  in  rows  showed  themselves  in  the 
white  face  of  the  cliffs.  The  ruins  of  a  number  of 
squat  hovels  were  barely  discernible  over  the  wheat. 

"Set  me  down  near  Masaarah,"  Kenkenes  said, 
"and  wait  for  me."  The  boatman  ducked  his  head  re- 
spectfully and  made  toward  the  eastern  shore.  He 
effected  a  landing  at  a  bedding  of  masonry  on  which  a 
wharf  had  once  been  built.  The  rock  was  now  over- 
run with  riotous  marsh  growth. 

The  quarries  had  not  been  worked  for  half  a  cen- 
tury. The  thrifty  husbandman  had  cultivated  his  nar- 
row field  within  a  few  feet  of  the  Nile,  and  the  road- 
way that  had  once  led  from  the  ruined  wharf  toward 
the  hills  was  obliterated  by  the  grain. 

Kenkenes  alighted  and  struck  through  the  wheat 
toward  the  pitted  front  of  the  cliffs.    Before  him  was 


42  THE   YOKE 

a  narrow  gorge  that  debouched  into  the  great  valley 
over  a  ledge  of  stone  three  feet  in  height.  After  much 
winding  the  ravine  terminated  in  a  wide  pocket,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  inland.  Exit  from  this  cul-de-sac 
was  possible  toward  the  east  by  a  steep  slope  leading 
to  the  top  of  one  of  the  interior  ridges  of  the  desert. 
Kenkenes  did  not  pause  at  the  cluster  of  houses.  The 
roofs  had  fallen  in  and  the  place  was  quite  unin- 
habitable. But  he  leaped  up  into  the  little  valley  and 
followed  it  to  its  end.  There  he  climbed  the  sharp 
declivity  and  turned  back  in  the  direction  he  had 
come,  along  the  flank  of  the  hill  that  formed  the  north 
wall  of  the  gorge.  The  summit  of  the  height  was  far 
above  him,  and  the  slope  was  covered  with  limestone 
masses.  There  had  been  no  frost  nor  rain  to  disturb 
the  original  rock-piling.  Only  the  agencies  of  sand 
and  wind  had  disarranged  the  distribution  on  which 
the  builders  of  the  earliest  dynasty  had  looked.  And 
this  was  weird,  mysterious  and  labyrinthine. 

At  a  spot  where  a  great  deal  of  broken  rock  encum- 
bered the  ground,  Kenkenes  unslung  his  wallet  and 
tested  the  fragments  with  chisel  and  mallet.  It  was 
the  same  as  the  quarry  product — magnesium  lime- 
stone, white,  fine,  close-grained  and  easily  worked. 
But  it  was  broken  in  fragments  too  small  for  his  pur- 
pose. Above  him  were  fields  of  greater  masses. 

"Now,  I  was  born  under  a  fortunate  sign,"  he  said 
aloud  as  he  scaled  the  hillside ;  "but  I  fear  those  slabs 
are  too  long  for  a  life-sized  statue." 

On  reaching  them  he  found  that  those  blocks  which 
appeared  from  a  distance  to  weigh  less  than  a  ton, 
were  irregular  cubes  ten  feet  high. 

He  grumbled  his  disappointment  and  climbed  upon 


UNDER   BAN   OF   THE   RITUAL         43 

one  to  take  a  general  survey  of  his  stoneyard.  At  that 
moment  his  eyes  fell  on  a  block  of  proper  dimensions 
under  the  very  shadow  of  the  great  cube  upon  which 
he  stood.  It  was  in  the  path  of  the  wind  from  the 
north  and  was  buried  half  its  height  in  sand. 

Kenkenes  leaped  from  his  point  of  vantage  with  a 
cry  of  delight. 

"Nay,  now,"  he  exclaimed ;  "where  in  this  is  divine 
disfavor?"  He  inspected  his  discovery,  tried  it  for 
solidity  of  position  and  purity  of  texture.  Its  location 
was  particularly  favorable  to  secrecy. 

It  stood  at  the  lower  end  of  an  aisle  between  great 
rocks.  All  view  of  it  was  cut  off,  save  from  that  posi- 
tion taken  by  Kenkenes  when  he  discovered  it.  A  wall 
built  between  it  and  the  north  would  bar  the  sand  and 
form  a  nook,  wholly  closed  on  two  sides  and  partly 
closed  at  each  end  by  stones.  All  this  made  itself  plain 
to  the  mind  of  the  young  sculptor  at  once.  With  a 
laugh  of  sheer  content,  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  began  to  sing. 

Then  was  the  harsh  desolation  of  the  hills  startled, 
the  immediate  echoes  given  unaccustomed  sound  to 
undulate  in  diminishing  volume  from  one  to  another. 
He  sang  absently,  but  his  preoccupation  did  not  make 
his  tones  indifferent.  For  his  voice  was  soft,  full, 
organ-like,  flexible,  easy  with  illimitable  lung-power 
and  ineffable  grace.  When  he  ceased  the  silence  fell, 
empty  and  barren,  after  that  song's  unaudienced 
splendor. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE   MESSENGER 


Menttr  returned  from  the  session  at  the  palace,  un- 
communicative and  moody.  When,  after  the  evening 
meal,  Kenkenes  crossed  the  court  to  talk  with  him,  he 
found  the  elder  sculptor  feeding  a  greedy  flame  in  a 
brazier  with  the  careful  plans  for  the  new  temple  to 
Set.  Kenkenes  retired  noiselessly  and  saw  his  father 
no  more  that  night. 

The  next  day  Mentu  was  bending  over  fresh  sheets 
of  papyrus,  and  when  his  son  entered  and  stood  beside 
him  he  raised  his  head  defiantly. 

"I  have  another  royal  obelisk  to  decorate,"  he  said, 
fixing  the  young  man  with  a  steady  eye,  "of  a  surety, — 
without  doubt, — inevitably, — for  the  thing  is  all  but 
ready  to  be  set  up  at  On." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  Kenkenes  replied  gravely.  "Let 
me  make  clean  copies  of  these  which  are  complete." 

He  gathered  up  the  sheets  and  took  his  place  at  the 
opposite  table.  Then  ensued  a  long  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  loud  and  restless  investigations  of  the  om- 
nipresent and  unabashed  ape. 

At  last  the  elder  sculptor  spoke. 

"The  eye  of  heaven  must  be  unblinkingly  upon  the 
divine  Meneptah,"  he  observed,  as  though  he  had  but 
thought  aloud. 

Kenkenes  gazed  at  his  father  with  the  inquiry  on 
44 


THE    MESSENGER  45 

his  face  that  he  did  not  voice.  The  sculptor  had  risen 
from  his  bench  and  was  searching  a  chest  of  rolled 
plans  near  him.  He  caught  his  son's  look  and  closed 
his  mouth  on  an  all  but  spoken  expression.  Kenkenes 
continued  to  gaze  at  him  in  some  astonishment,  and 
the  elder  man  muttered  to  himself : 

"I  like  him  not,  though  if  Osiris  should  ask  me  why, 
I  could  not  tell.  But  he  hath  a  too-ready  smile,  and  by 
that  I  know  he  will  twirl  Meneptah  like  a  string  about 
his  finger." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  man  widened.  "The  new  ad- 
viser?" he  asked. 

"Even  so,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

Before  Kenkenes  could  ask  for  further  enlighten- 
ment a  female  slave  bowed  in  the  doorway. 

"The  Lady  Senci  sends  thee  greeting  and  would 
speak  with  thee.  She  is  at  the  outer  portal  in  her 
curricle,"  she  said,  addressing  Mentu. 

The  great  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  glanced  hurriedly 
at  his  ink-stained  fingers,  at  his  robe,  and  then  fled 
across  the  court  into  the  door  he  had  entered  to  change 
his  dress  the  day  before. 

Kenkenes  smiled,  for  Mentu  had  been  a  widower 
these  ten  Nile  floods. 

The  slave  still  lingered. 

"Also  is  there  a  messenger  for  thee,  master,"  she 
said,  bowing  again. 

"So?    Let  him  enter." 

The  man  whom  the  slave  ushered  in  a  few  minutes 
later  was  old,  spare  and  bent,  but  he  was  alert  and 
restless.  His  eyes  were  brilliant  and  over  them  arched 
eyebrows  that  were  almost  white.  He  made  a  jerky 
obeisance. 


46  THE   YOKE 

"Greeting,  son  of  Mentu.  Dost  thou  remember 
me?" 

The  young  man  looked  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment. 

"I  remember,"  he  said  at  last.  "Thou  art  Ranas, 
courier  to  Snofru,  priest  of  On.  Greeting  and  wel- 
come to  Memphis.    Enter  and  be  seated." 

"Many  thanks,  but  mine  errand  is  urgent.  I  have 
been  a  guest  of  my  son,  who  abideth  just  without 
Memphis,  and  this  morning  a  messenger  came  to  my 
son's  door.  He  had  been  sent  by  Snofru  to  Tape,  but 
had  fallen  ill  on  the  river  between  On  and  Memphis. 
As  it  happened,  the  house  of  my  son  was  the  nearest, 
and  thither  he  came,  in  fever  and  beyond  traveling  an- 
other rod.  As  the  message  he  bore  concerned  the 
priesthood,  I  went  to  Asar-Mut  and  I  am  come  from 
him  to  thee.  He  bids  thee  prepare  for  a  journey  be- 
fore presenting  thyself  to  him,  at  the  temple." 

Kenkenes  frowned  in  some  perplexity. 

"His  command  is  puzzling.  Am  I  to  become  a  mes- 
senger for  the  gods  ?" 

"The  first  messenger  was  a  nobleman,"  the  old 
courier  explained  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  "and  the  holy 
father  spoke  of  thy  fidelity  and  despatch." 

"Mine  uncle  is  gracious.  Salute  him  for  me  and 
tell  him  I  obey." 

The  old  man  bowed  once  more  and  withdrew. 

When  Kenkenes  crossed  the  court  a  little  time  later 
he  met  his  father. 

"The  Lady  Senci  brings  me  news  that  makes  me 
envious,"  Mentu  began  at  once,  "and  shames  me  be- 
cause of  thee !" 

Kenkenes  lifted  an  expressive  brow  at  this  unex- 
pected onslaught.    "Nay,  now,  what  have  I  done?" 


THE    MESSENGER  47 

"Nothing!"  Mentu  asserted  emphatically;  "and  for 
that  reason  am  I  wroth.  The  Lady  Senci's  nephew, 
Hotep,  is  the  new  chief  of  the  royal  scribes." 

"I  call  that  good  tidings,"  Kenkenes  replied,  a  cheer- 
ful note  in  his  voice,  "and  worth  greeting  with  a  health 
to  Hotep.  But  thou  must  remember,  my  father,  that 
he  is  older  than  I." 

"How  much  ?"  the  elder  sculptor  asked. 

"Three  whole  revolutions  of  Ra." 

The  artist  regarded  his  son  scornfully  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"The  Lady  Senci  wishes  me  to  prepare  plans  for  the 
further  elaboration  of  her  tomb,"  he  went  on,  at  last, 
"but  the  work  on  the  obelisk  may  not  be  laid  aside. 
If  I  might  trust  you  to  go  on  with  them,  the  Lady 
Senci  need  not  wait." 

"But  I  have,  this  moment,  been  summoned  by  my 
holy  uncle,  Asar-Mut,  to  go  on  a  journey,  and  I  know 
not  whrn  I  return,"  Kenkenes  explained. 

Mentu  gazed  at  him  without  comprehending. 

"A  messenger  on  his  way  to  Tape  from  Snofru  was 
overtaken  with  misfortune  here,  and  Asar-Mut,  get- 
ting word  of  it,  sent  for  me,"  the  young  man  con- 
tinued. "I  can  only  guess  that  he  wishes  me  to  carry 
on  the  message." 

"Humph !"  the  elder  sculptor  remarked.  "Asar-Mut 
has  kingly  tastes.  The  couriers  of  priests  are  not 
usually  of  the  nobility.    But  get  thee  gone." 

The  pair  separated  and  the  young  man  passed  into 
the  house.  The  ape  under  the  bunch  of  leaves  in  a 
palm-top  looked  after  him  fixedly  for  a  moment,  and 
then  sliding  down  the  tree,  disappeared  among  the 
flowers. 


48  THE   YOKE 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  Kenkenes  entered  a  cross 
avenue  leading  to  a  great  square  in  which  the  temple 
stood,  he  found  the  roadway  filled  with  people,  crowd- 
ing about  a  group  of  disheveled  women.  These  were 
shrieking,  wildly  tearing  their  hair,  beating  themselves 
and  throwing  dust  upon  their  heads.  Kenkenes  im- 
mediately surmised  that  there  was  something  more 
than  the  usual  death-wail  in  this. 

He  touched  a  man  near  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Who  may  these  distracted  women  be?"  he  asked. 

"The  mothers  of  Khafra  and  Sigur,  and  their 
women." 

"Nay !  Are  these  men  dead  ?    I  knew  them  once. 

"They  are  by  this  time.  They  were  to  be  hanged 
in  the  dungeon  of  the  house  of  the  governor  of  police 
at  this  hour,"  the  man  answered  with  morbid  relish  in 
his  tone.    Kenkenes  looked  at  him  in  horror. 

"What  had  they  done  ?"  he  asked.  The  man  plunged 
eagerly  into  the  narrative. 

"They  were  tomb  robbers  and  robbed  independently 
of  the  brotherhood  of  thieves.*  They  refused  to  pay 
the  customary  tribute  from  their  spoil  to  the  chief  of 
robbers,  and  whatsoever  booty  they  got  they  kept, 
every  jot  of  it.  Innumerable  mummies  were  found 
rifled  of  their  gold  and  gems,  and  although  the  chief 
of  robbers  and  the  governor  of  police  sought  and  bur- 

*In  ancient  Egypt  burglary  was  reduced  to  a  system  and 
governed  by  law.  The  chief  of  robbers  received  all  the  spoil 
and  to  him  the  victimized  citizen  repaired  and,  upon  payment 
of  a  certain  per  cent,  of  the  value  of  the  object  stolen,  re- 
ceived his  property  again.  The  original  burglar  and  the  chief 
of  robbers  divided  the  profits.  This  traffic  was  countenanced 
in  Egypt  until  the  country  passed  into  British  hands. 


THE    MESSENGER  49 

rowed  into  every  den  in  the  Middle  country,  they  could 
not  find  the  missing  treasure.  Then  they  knew  that 
the  looting  was  not  done  by  any  of  the  licensed  robbers. 
So  all  the  professional  thieves  and  all  the  police  set 
themselves  to  seek  out  the  lawless  plunderers." 

"Humph!"  interpolated  Kenkenes  expressively. 

"Aye.  And  it  was  not  long  with  all  these  upon  the 
scent  until  Khafra  and  Sigur  were  discovered  coming 
forth  from  a  tomb  laden  with  spoil,  and  in  the  struggle 
which  ensued  they  did  murder.  But  the  constabulary 
have  not  found  the  rest  of  the  booty,  though  they  made 
great  search  for  it  and  may  have  put  the  thieves  to 
torture.  Who  knows?  They  do  dark  things  in  the 
dungeon  under  the  house  of  the  governor  of  police." 

"And  so  they  hanged  them  speedily,"  said  Kenkenes, 
desirous  of  ending  the  grisly  tale. 

"And  so  they  hanged  them.  I  could  not  get  in  to 
see,  and  these  screaming  mothers  attracted  me,  so  I 
am  here.  But  my  neighbor's  son  is  a  friend  of  the 
jailer,  and  I  shall  know  yet  how  they  died." 

But  Kenkenes  was  stalking  off  toward  the  temple, 
his  shoulders  lifted  high  with  disgust. 

"O,  ye  inscrutable  Hathors,"  he  exclaimed  finally ; 
"how  ye  have  disposed  the  fortunes  of  four  friends ! 
Two  of  us  hanged,  a  third  in  royal  favor,  a  fourth  an 
— an — an  offender  against  the  gods." 

Presently  the  avenue  opened  into  the  temple  square. 
With  reverential  hand  Memphis  put  back  her  dwellings 
and  her  bazaars,  that  profane  life  might  not  press  upon 
the  sacred  precincts  of  her  mighty  gods.  Here  was  a 
vast  acreage,  overhung  with  the  atmosphere  of  sanc- 
tity. The  grove  of  mysteries  was  there,  dark  with  pro- 
found shadow,  and  silent  save  for  a  lonesome  bird- 


50  THE   YOKE 

song  or  the  suspirations  of  the  wind.  The  great  pool 
in  its  stone  basin  reflected  a  lofty  canopy  of  sunlit 
foliage,  and  the  shaggy  peristyle  of  palm-tree  trunks. 

The  shadow  of  the  great  structure  darkened  its  ap- 
proaches before  it  was  clearly  visible  through  the 
grove.  The  devotee  entered  a  long  avenue  of  sphinxes 
— fifty  pairs  lining  a  broad  highway  paved  with  pol- 
ished granite  flagging. 

At  its  termination  the  two  truncated  pyramids  that 
formed  the  entrance  to  the  temple  towered  upward, 
two  hundred  feet  of  massive  masonry.  Egypt  had  dis- 
mantled a  dozen  mountains  to  build  two. 

When  he  reached  the  gateway  that  opened  like  a 
tunnel  between  the  ponderous  pylons,  he  was  delayed 
some  minutes  waiting  till  the  porter  should  admit  him 
through  the  wicket  of  bronze.  At  last,  a  lank  youth, 
the  son  of  the  regular  keeper,  appeared,  and,  with  an 
inarticulate  apology,  bade  him  enter. 

Within  the  overarching  portals  he  was  met  by  a 
novice,  a  priest  of  the  lowest  orders,  to  whom  he  stated 
his  mission.  With  a  sign  to  the  young  man  to  follow, 
the  priest  passed  through  the  porch  into  the  inner  court 
of  the  temple.  This  was  simply  an  immense  roofless 
chamber.  Its  sides  were  the  outer  walls  of  the  temple 
proper,  reinforced  by  stupendous  pilasters  and  elabo- 
rated with  much  bas-relief  and  many  intaglios.  The 
ends  were  formed  by  the  inner  pylons  of  the  porch 
and  outer  pylons  of  the  main  temple.  The  latter  were 
guarded  by  colossal  divinities.  Down  the  center  of 
the  court  was  a  second  aisle  of  sphinxes.  They  had 
entered  this  when  the  priest,  with  a  startled  exclama~ 
tion,  sprang  behind  one  of  the  recumbent  monsters  in 
time  to  avoid  the  frolicsome  salutation  of  an  ape. 


THE    MESSENGER  51 

"Anubis!  Mut,  the  Mother  of  Darkness,  lends 
you  her  cloak !  Out !"  Kenkenes  cried,  striking  at  his 
pet.  The  wary  animal  eluded  the  blow  and  for  a  mo- 
ment revolved  about  another  sphinx,  pursued  by  his 
master,  and  then  fled  like  a  phantom  out  of  the  court 
by  the  path  he  came.  By  this  time  the  priest  had 
emerged  from  his  refuge  and  was  attempting  to  pre- 
vent the  young  man's  interference  with  the  will  of  the 
ape. 

"Nay,  nay;  I  am  sorry!"  the  priest  exclaimed  as 
Anubis  disappeared.  "It  is  an  omen.  Toth*  visiteth 
Ptah;  Wisdom  seeketh  Power!  Came  he  by  divine 
summons  or  did  he  seek  the  great  god?  It  is  a  prob- 
lem for  the  sorcerers  and  is  of  ominous  import !" 

"The  pestiferous  creature  followed  me  unseen  from 
the  house,"  Kenkenes  explained,  rather  flushed  of  coun- 
tenance. "To  me  it  is  an  omen  that  the  idler  who 
keeps  the  gate  is  not  vigilant." 

The  priest  shook  his  head  and  led  the  way  without 
further  words  into  the  temple.  Here  the  young  sculp- 
tor was  conducted  through  a  wilderness  of  jacketed 
columns,  over  pavements  that  rang  even  under  san- 
daled feet,  to  the  center  of  a  vast  hall.  The  priest 
left  him  and  disappeared  through  the  all-enveloping 
twilight  into  the  more  sacred  part  of  the  temple. 

In  a  moment,  Asar-Mut,  high  priest  to  Ptah,  ap- 
peared, approaching  through  the  dusk.  He  wore  the 
priestly  habiliments  of  spotless  linen,  and,  like  a  loose 
mantle,  a  magnificent  leopard-skin,  which  hung  by  a 
claw  over  the  right  shoulder  and,  passing  under  the 


*The  ape  was  sacred  to  and  an  emblem  of  Toth,  the  male 
deity  of  Wisdom  and  Law. 


52  THE   YOKE 

left  arm,  was  fastened  at  the  breast  by  a  medallion  of 
gold  and  topaz.  He  was  a  typical  Egyptian,  but  thin- 
ner of  lip  and  severer  of  countenance  than  the  laity. 
The  wooden  dolls  tumbled  about  by  the  children  of  the 
realm  were  not  more  hairless  than  he.  His  high, 
narrow  head  was  ghastly  in  its  utter  nakedness. 

Kenkenes  bent  reverently  before  him  and  was  greet- 
ed kindly  by  the  pontiff. 

"Hast  thou  guessed  why  I  sent  for  thee?"  he  asked 
at  once. 

"I  have  guessed,"  Kenkenes  replied,  "but  it  may  be 
wildly." 

"Let  us  see.  I  would  have  thee  carry  a  message  for 
the  brotherhood." 

Kenkenes  inclined  his  head. 

"Good.  Be  thy  journey  as  quick  as  thy  perception. 
I  ask  thy  pardon  for  laying  the  work  of  a  temple 
courier  upon  thy  shoulders,  but  the  message  is  of  such 
import  that  I  would  carry  it  myself  were  I  as  young 
and  unburdened  with  duty  as  thou." 

"I  am  thy  servant,  holy  Father,  and  well  pleased 
with  the  opportunity  that  permits  me  to  serve  the 
gods." 

"I  know,  and  therefore  have  I  chosen  thee.  My 
trusted  courier  is  dead;  the  others  are  light-minded, 
and  Tape  is  in  the  height  of  festivity.  They  might 
delay — they  might  be  lured  into  forgetting  duty,  and," 
the  pontiff  lowered  his  voice  and  drew  nearer  to  Ken- 
kenes, "and  there  are  those  that  may  be  watching  for 
this  letter.  A  nobleman  would  not  be  thought  a  mes- 
senger. Thou  dost  incur  less  danger  than  the  clout- 
wearing  runner  for  the  temple." 

A  light  broke  over  Kenkenes. 


THE    MESSENGER  53 

"I  understand,"  he  said. 

"Go,  then,  by  private  boat  at  sunset,  and  Ptah  be 
with  thee.  Make  all  speed."  He  put  a  doubly 
wrapped  scroll  into  Kenkenes'  hands.  "This  is  to  be 
delivered  to  our  holy  Superior,  Loi,  priest  of  Amen. 
Farewell,  and  fail  not." 

Kenkenes  bowed  and  withdrew. 

It  was  long  before  sunset,  and  he  had  an  unfulfilled 
promise  in  mind.  He  crossed  the  square  thoughtfully 
and  paused  by  the  pool  in  its  center.  The  surface,  dark 
and  smooth  as  oil,  reflected  his  figure  and  face  faith- 
fully and  to  his  evident  satisfaction.  He  passed  around 
the  pool  and  walked  briskly  in  the  direction  of  another 
narrow  passage  lined  by  rich  residences. 

He  knocked  at  a  portal  framed  by  a  pair  of  huge 
pilasters,  which  towered  upward,  and,  as  pillars, 
formed  two  of  the  colonnade  on  the  roof.  A  portress 
admitted  him  with  a  smile  and  led  him  through  the 
sumptuously  appointed  chamber  of  guests  into  the  in- 
tramural park.  There  she  indicated  a  nook  in  an  arbor 
of  vines  and  left  him. 

With  a  silent  foot  he  crossed  the  flowery  court  and 
entered  the  bower.  The  beautiful  dweller  sat  in  a  deep 
chair,  her  little  feet  on  a  carved  footstool,  a  silver- 
stringed  lyre  tumbled  beside  it.  She  was  alone  and 
appeared  desolate.  When  the  tall  figure  of  the  sculp- 
tor cast  a  shadow  upon  her  she  looked  up  with  a  little 
cry  of  delight. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "a  god  led  thee  hither  to  save 
me  from  the  solitude.  It  is  a  moody  monster  not  cata- 
logued in  the  list  of  terrors."  She  thrust  the  lyre  aside 
with  her  sandal  and  pushed  the  footstool,  only  a  little, 
away  from  her. 


54  THE   YOKE 

"Sit  there,"  she  commanded.  Kenkenes  obeyed  will- 
ingly.   He  drew  off  his  coif  and  tossed  it  aside. 

"Thou  seest  I  am  come  in  the  garb  of  labor,"  he  con- 
fessed. 

"I  see,"  she  answered  severely.  "Am  I  no  longer 
worthy  the  robe  of  festivity  ?" 

"Ah,  Ta-meri,  thou  dost  wrong  me,"  he  said.  "Chide 
me,  but  impugn  me  not.  Nay,  I  am  on  my  way  to 
Tape.  I  was  summoned  hurriedly  and  am  already  dis- 
missed upon  mine  errand,  but  I  could  not  use  myself 
so  ill  as  to  postpone  my  visit  for  eighteen  days." 

She  jeered  at  him  prettily. 

"To  hear  thee  one  would  think  thou  hadst  been  com- 
ing as  often  as  Nechutes." 

"How  often  does  Nechutes  come?" 

"Every  day." 

"Of  late?"  he  asked,  with  a  laugh  in  his  eyes. 

"Nay,"  she  answered  sulkily.  "Not  since  the  day — 
that  day !" 

Kenkenes  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  put  his 
elbow  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  leaned  his  head 
against  his  hand.  The  attitude  brought  him  close  to 
her. 

"All  these  days,"  he  said  at  length,  "he  has  been 
unhappy  among  the  happy  and  the  unhappiest  among 
the  sad.  He  has  summoned  the  shuddering  Pantheon 
to  hear  him  vow  eternal  unfealty  to  thee,  Ta-meri — 
and  lo !  while  they  listened  he  begged  their  most  potent 
charm  to  hold  thee  to  him  still.    Poor  Nechutes !" 

"Thou  dost  treat  it  lightly,"  she  reproached  him,  her 
eyes  veiled,  "but  it  is  of  serious  import  to — to  Ne- 
chutes." 

"Nay,  I  shall  hold  my  tongue.    I  efface  myself  and 


THE   MESSENGER  55 

intercede  for  him,  and  thou  dost  call  it  exulting.  And 
when  I  am  fallen  from  thy  favor  there  will  be  none 
to  plead  my  cause,  none  to  hide  her  misty  eyes  with 
contrite  lashes." 

"Mine  eyes  are  not  misty,"  she  retorted. 

"Thou  hast  said,"  he  admitted,  in  apology.  "It  was 
not  a  happy  term.  I  meant  bejeweled  with  repentant 
dew." 

She  shook  her  little  finger  at  him. 

"If  thou  dost  persist  in  thy  calumny  of  me,  thou 
mayest  come  to  test  thy  dismal  augury,"  she  warned. 

He  dropped  his  eyes  and  his  mouth  drooped  dolor- 
ously. 

"I  come  for  comfort,  and  I  get  Nechutes  and  all  the 
unpropitious  possibilities  that  his  name  suggests." 

"Comfort?  Thou,  in  trouble?  Thou,  the  light- 
hearted  ?"  she  laughed. 

"Nay;  I  am  discontented,  but  I  might  as  well  hope 
to  heave  the  skies  away  with  my  shoulders  as  to  rebel 
against  mine  oppression.  So  I  came  to  be  petted  into 
submission." 

"Nay,  dost  thou  hear  him?"  the  lady  cried.  "And 
he  came,  because  he  was  sure  he  would  get  it !" 

"And  he  will  go  away  because  the  Lady  Ta-meri 
means  he  shall  not  have  it,"  he  exclaimed.  He  reached 
toward  his  coif  and  immediately  a  panic-stricken  little 
hand  stayed  him. 

"Nay,"  she  said  softly.  "I  was  but  retaliating. 
Hast  thou  not  plagued  me,  and  may  I  not  tease  thee  a 
little  in  revenge  ?    Say  on." 

"My — but  now  I  bethink  me,  I  ought  not  to  tell  thee. 
It  savors  of  that  which  so  offends  thy  nice  sense  of 


56  THE  YOKE 

gentility — labor,"  he  said,  sinking  back  in  his  easy 
attitude  again. 

"Fie,  Kenkenes,"  she  said.  "Hath  some  one  put  thy 
slavish  love  of  toil  under  ban?  Does  that  oppress 
thee?"  He  reproved  her  with  a  pat  on  the  nearest 
hand. 

"The  king  toils ;  the  priests  toil ;  the  powers  of  the 
world  labor.  None  but  the  beautiful  idle  may  be  idle, 
and  that  for  their  beauty's  sake.  Nay,  it  is  not  that  I 
may  not  work,  but  I  may  not  work  as  I  wish  and  I 
am  heart-sick  therefore." 

His  last  words  ended  in  a  tone  of  genuine  dejection. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  grass  of  the  nook  and  his 
brows  had  knitted  slightly.  The  expression  was  a  rare 
one  for  his  face  and  in  its  way  becoming — for  the 
moment  at  least.  The  hand  he  had  patted  drew  nearer, 
and  at  last,  after  a  little  hesitancy,  was  laid  on  his  black 
hair.  He  lifted  his  face  and  took  cheer,  from  the  light 
in  her  eyes,  to  proceed. 

"Since  I  may  speak,"  he  began,  "I  shall.  Ta-meri, 
thou  knowest  that  as  a  sculptor  I  work  within  limits. 
The  stature  of  mine  art  must  crouch  under  the  bounds 
of  the  ritual.  It  is  not  boasting  if  I  say  that  I  see,  with 
brave  eyes,  that  Egypt  insults  herself  when  she  creates 
horrors  in  stone  and  says,  'This  is  my  idea  of  art.' 
And  these  things  are  not  human;  neither  are  they 
beasts — they  are  grotesques  that  verge  so  near  upon  a 
semblance  of  living  things  as  to  be  piteous.  They 
thwart  the  purpose  of  sculpture.  Why  do  we  carve  at 
all,  if  not  to  show  how  we  appear  to  the  world  or  the 
world  appears  to  us  ?  Now  for  my  rebellion.  I  would 
carve  as  we  are  made ;  as  we  dispose  ourselves ;  aye,  I 
would  display  a  man's  soul  in  his  face  and  write  his 


THE    MESSENGER  57 

history  on  his  brow.  I  would  people  Egypt  with  a 
host  of  beauty,  grace  and  naturalness — " 

"Just  as  if  they  were  alive  ?"  Ta-meri  inquired  with 
interest. 

"Even  so — of  such  naturalness  that  one  could  guess 
only  by  the  hue  of  the  stone  that  they  did  not  breathe." 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed  a 
little. 

"But  they  do  not  carve  that  way,"  she  protested. 
"It  is  not  sculpture.  Thou  wouldst  fill  the  land  with 
frozen  creatures — ai!"  with  another  little  shrug.  "It 
would  be  haunted  and  spectral.  Nay,  give  me  the  old 
forms.    They  are  best." 

Kenkenes  fairly  gasped  with  his  sudden  descent 
from  earnest  hope  to  disappointment.  A  flood  of  half- 
angry  shame  dyed  his  face  and  the  wound  to  his  sensi- 
bilities showed  its  effect  so  plainly  that  the  beauty 
noted  it  with  a  sudden  burst  of  compunction. 

"Of  a  truth,"  she  added,  her  voice  grown  wondrous 
soft,  "I  am  full  of  sympathy  for  thee,  Kenkenes. 
Nay,  look  up.    I  can  not  be  happy  if  thou  art  not." 

"That  suffices.  I  am  cheered,"  he  began,  but  the 
note  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice  was  too  apparent  for  him 
to  permit  himself  to  proceed.  He  caught  up  the  lyre, 
and  drawing  up  a  diphros — a  double  seat  of  fine  woods 
— rested  against  it  and  began  to  improvise  with  an 
assumption  of  carelessness.  Ta-meri  sank  back  in  her 
chair  and  regarded  him  from  under  dreamy  lids — her 
senses  charmed,  her  light  heart  won  by  his  comeliness 
and  talent.  Kenkenes  became  conscious  of  her  inspec- 
tion, at  last,  and  looked  up  at  her.  His  eyes  were  still 
bright  with  his  recent  feeling  and  the  hue  in  his  cheeks 
a  little  deeper.     The  admiration  in  her  face  became 


58  THE   YOKE 

so  speaking  that  he  smiled  and  ran  without  pausing 
into  one  of  the  love-lyrics  of  the  day.  Breaking  off  in 
its  midst,  he  dropped  the  lyre  and  said  with  honest 
apology  in  his  voice : 

"I  crave  thy  pardon,  Ta-meri.  What  right  had  I  to 
weight  thee  with  my  cares !  It  was  selfish,  and  yet — 
thou  art  so  inviting  a  confidante,  that  it  is  not  wholly 
my  fault  if  I  come  to  seek  of  thee,  my  oldest  and 
sweetest  friend,  the  woman  comfort  that  was  bereft 
me  with  my  rightful  comforter." 

"Neither  mother  nor  sister  nor  lady-love,"  she 
mused.  He  nodded,  but  the  slight  interrogative  em- 
phasis caught  him,  and  he  looked  up  at  her.  He  nod- 
ded again. 

"Nay,  nor  lady-love,  thanks  to  the  luck  of  Nechu- 
tes." 

"Nechutes  is  no  longer  lucky,"  she  said  deliberately. 

"No  matter,"  Kenkenes  insisted.  "I  shall  be  gone 
eighteen  days,  and  his  luck  will  have  changed  before 
I  can  return." 

"Thine  auguries  seem  to  please  thee,"  she  pouted. 

He  put  the  back  of  her  jeweled  hand  against  his 
cheek. 

"Nay,  I  but  comfort  thee  at  the  sacrifice  of  mine 
own  peace." 

"A  futile  sacrifice." 

"What!" 

"A  futile  sacrifice !" 

"Ah,  Ta-meri,  beseech  the  Goddess  Ma  to  forget 
thy  words !"  he  cried  in  mock  horror.  She  tossed 
her  head,  and  instantly  he  got  upon  his  feet,  catching 
up  his  coif  as  he  did  so. 

"Come,  bid  me  farewell,"  he  said  putting  out  his 


THE    MESSENGER  59 

hand,  "and  one  of  double  sweetness,  for  I  doubt  me 
much  if  Nechutes  will  permit  a  welcome  when  I  re- 
turn." 

"Nechutes  will  not  interfere  in  mine  affairs,"  she 
said,  as  she  rose. 

"Nay,  I  shall  know  if  that  be  true  when  I  return," 
he  declared. 

She  stamped  her  foot. 

"Fie!"  he  laughed.  "Already  do  I  begin  to  doubt 
it." 

She  turned  from  him  and  kept  her  face  away.  Ken- 
kenes  went  to  her  and,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his, 
drew  her  close  to  him.  She  did  not  resist,  but  her 
face  reproached  him — not  for  what  he  was  doing, 
but  for  what  he  had  done.  With  his  head  bent, 
he  looked  down  into  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  Her  red 
mouth  with  its  sulky  pathos  was  almost  irresistible. 
But  he  only  pressed  one  hand  to  his  lips. 

"I  must  wait  until  I  return,"  he  said  from  the  door- 
way, and  was  gone. 

On  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Nile  at  sunset,  four 
strong  oarsmen  were  speeding  him  swiftly  up  to 
Thebes.  Off  the  long  wharves  at  the  southernmost 
limits  of  the  city,  the  rapid  boat  overtook  and  passed 
low-riding,  slowly  moving  stone-barges  laden  with 
quarry  slaves.  The  unwieldy  craft  progressed  heavily, 
nearer  and  within  the  darkening  shadow  of  the  Ara- 
bian hills.  Kenkenes  watched  them  as  long  as  they 
were  in  sight,  an  unwonted  pity  making  itself  felt  in 
his  heart.  For  even  in  the  dusk  he  distinguished  many 
women  and  the  immature  figures  of  children ;  and 
none  knew  the  quarry  life  better  than  he,  who  was  a 
worker  in  stone. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE   PROCESSION    OF   AMEN 


Thebes  Diospolis,  the  hundred-gated,  was  in  holiday 
attire.  The  great  suburb  to  the  west  of  the  Nile  had 
emptied  her  multitudes  into  the  solemn  community 
of  the  gods.  Besides  her  own  inhabitants  there  were 
thousands  from  the  entire  extent  of  the  Thebaid  and 
visitors  even  from  far-away  Syene  and  Philae.  It  was 
an  occasion  for  more  than  ordinary  pomp.  The  great 
god  Amen  was  to  be  taken  for  an  outing  in  his  ark. 

Every  possible  manifestation  of  festivity  had  been 
sought  after  and  displayed.  The  air  was  a-flutter 
with  party-colored  streamers.  Garlands  rioted  over 
colossus,  peristyle,  obelisk  and  sphinx  without  con- 
serving pattern  or  moderation.  The  dromos,  or  ave- 
nue of  sphinxes,  was  carpeted  with  palm  and  nelumbo 
leaves,  and  copper  censers  as  large  as  caldrons  had 
been  set  at  equidistance  from  one  another,  and  an  un- 
ceasing reek  of  aromatics  drifted  up  from  them 
throughout  the  day. 

For  once  the  magnificence  of  the  wondrous  city  of 
the  gods  was  set  down  from  its  usual  preeminence  in 
the  eyes  of  the  wondering  spectator,  and  the  vastness 
of  the  multitude  usurped  its  place.  The  bari  of  Ken- 
kenes  seeking  to  round  the  island  of  sand  lying  near 
the  eastern  shore  opposite  the  village  of  Karnak,  met 

60 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  61 

a  solid  pack  of  boats.  The  young  sculptor  took  in  the 
situation  at  once,  and,  putting  about,  found  a  landing 
farther  to  the  north.  There  he  made  a  portage  across 
the  flat  bar  of  sand  to  the  arm  of  quiet  water  that 
separated  the  island  from  the  eastern  shore.  Crossing, 
he  dismissed  his  eager  and  excited  boatmen  and  struck 
across  the  noon-heated  valley  toward  the  temple.  The 
route  of  the  pageant  could  be  seen  from  afar,  cleanly 
outlined  by  humanity.  It  extended  from  Karnak  to 
Luxor  and,  turning  in  a  vast  loop  at  the  Nile  front, 
countermarched  over  the  dromos  and  ended  at  the  tre- 
mendous white-walled  temple  of  Amen.  Between  the 
double  ranks  of  sightseers  there  was  but  chariot  room. 
The  side  Kenkenes  approached  sloped  sharply  from 
the  dromos  toward  the  river,  and  the  rearmost  specta- 
tors had  small  opportunity  to  behold  the  pageant. 
The  multitude  here  was  less  densely  packed.  Ken- 
kenes joined  the  crowd  at  this  point. 

Here  was  the  canaille  of  Thebes. 

They  wore  nothing  but  a  kilt  of  cotton — or  as  often, 
only  a  cincture  about  the  loins,  and  their  lean  bodies 
were  blackened  by  the  terrible  sun  of  the  desert.  They 
were  the  apprentices  of  paraschites,*  brewers,  profes- 
sional thieves,  slaves  and  traffickers  in  the  unclean 
necessities  of  a  great  city,  and  only  their  occasional 
riots,  or  such  events  as  this,  brought  them  into  gen- 
eral view  of  the  upper  classes.  They  had  nothing  in 
common  with  the  gentry,  whom  they  were  willing  to 
recognize  as  creatures  of  a  superior  mold.  Among 
themselves  there  were  established  castes,  and  members 
of  each  despised  the  lower  and  hated  the  upper.    Ken- 

^Undertakers — embalmers,  an  unclean  class. 


62  THE   YOKE 

kenes  slackened  his  pace  when  he  recognized  the  char- 
acter of  these  spectators,  and  after  hesitating  a  mo- 
ment, he  hung  the  fiat  wallet  containing  the  message 
around  his  neck  inside  his  kamis  and  pushed  on.  Ev- 
ery foot  of  progress  he  essayed  was  snarlingly  dis- 
puted until  the  rank  of  the  aggressive  stranger  was 
guessed  by  his  superior  dress,  when  he  was  given  a 
moody  and  ungracious  path.  But  he  finally  met  an 
immovable  obstacle  in  the  shape  of  a  quarrel. 

The  stage  of  hostilities  was  sufficiently  advanced 
to  be  menacing,  and  the  young  sculptor  hesitated  to 
ponder  on  the  advisability  of  pressing  on.  While  he 
waited,  several  deputies  of  the  constabulary,  method- 
ically silencing  the  crowd,  came  upon  these  belliger- 
ents in  turn  and  belabored  the  foremost  into  silence. 
The  act  decided  the  young  man.  The  feelings  of  the 
rabble  were  now  in  a  state  sufficiently  warlike  to 
make  them  forget  their  ancient  respect  for  class  and 
turn  savagely  upon  him,  should  he  show  any  desire  to 
force  his  way  through  their  lines.  Therefore  he  gave  up 
his  attempt  to  reach  the  temple  and  made  up  his  mind 
to  remain  where  he  was.  At  that  moment,  several 
gorgeous  litters  of  the  belated  wealthy  rammed  a  path 
to  the  very  front  and  were  set  down  before  the  rabble. 
Kenkenes  seized  upon  their  advance  to  proceed  also, 
and,  dropping  between  the  first  and  second  litter,  made 
his  way  with  little  difficulty  to  the  front.  With  the 
complacency  of  a  man  that  has  rank  and  authority  on 
his  side  he  turned  up  the  roadway  and  continued  to- 
ward the  temple.  He  was  halted  before  he  had  pro- 
ceeded ten  steps.  A  litter  richly  gilded  and  borne  by 
four  men,  came  pushing  through  the  crowd  and  was 
deposited  directly  in  his  path. 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  63 

But  for  the  unusual  appearance  of  the  bearers,  Ken- 
kenes  might  have  passed  around  the  conveyance  and 
continued.  Instead,  he  caught  the  contagious  curiosity 
of  the  crowd  and  stood  to  marvel.  The  men  were  stal- 
wart, black-bearded  and  strong  of  feature,  and  robed 
in  no  Egyptian  garb.  Thqy  were  draped  volumi- 
nously in  long  habits  of  brown  linen,  fringed  at  the 
hem,  belted  by  a  yellow  cord  with  tasseled  ends.  The 
sleeves  were  wide  and  showed  the  wristbands  of  a 
white  under-garment.  The  head-dress  was  a  brown 
kerchief  bound  about  the  brow  with  a  cord,  also 
yellow. 

While  Kenkenes  examined  them  in  detail,  a  long, 
in-drawn  breath  of  wonder  from  the  circle  of  specta- 
tors caused  him  to  look  at  the  alighting  owner  of  the 
litter. 

He  took  a  backward  step  and  halted,  amazed. 

Before  him  was  a  woman  of  heroic  proportions, 
taller,  with  the  exception  of  himself,  than  any  man  in 
the  crowd.  Upon  her,  at  first  glance,  was  to  be  dis- 
cerned the  stamp  of  great  age,  yet  she  was  as  straight 
as  a  column  and  her  hair  was  heavy  and  midnight- 
black.  Hers  was  the  Semitic  cast  of  countenance,  the 
features  sharply  chiseled,  but  without  that  aggressive- 
ness that  emphasizes  the  outline  of  a  withered  face. 
Every  passing  year  had  left  its  mark  on  her,  but 
she  had  grown  old  not  as  others  do.  Here  was  flesh 
compromising  with  age — accepting  its  majesty,  defy- 
ing its  decay — a  sublunar  assumption  of  immortality. 
There  was  no  longer  any  suggestion  of  femininity ; 
the  idea  was  dread  power  and  unearthly  grace.  Of 
such  nature  might  the  sexless  archangels  partake. 


64  THE   YOKE 

"Holy*  Amen !"  one  of  the  awed  bystanders  ex- 
claimed in  a  whisper  to  his  neighbor.    "Who  is  this?" 

"A  princess  from  Punt,"*  the  neighbor  surmised. 

"A  priestess  from  Babylon,"  another  hazarded. 

"Nay,  ye  are  all  wrong,"  quavered  an  old  man  who 
had  been  looking  at  the  new-comers  under  the  elbows 
of  the  crowd.    "She  is  an  Israelite." 

"Thou  hast  a  cataract,  old  man,"  was  the  scornful 
reply  from  some  one  near  by.    "She  is  no  slave." 

"Aye,"  went  on  the  unsteady  voice,  "I  know  her. 
She  was  the  favorite  woman  of  Queen  Neferari  Ther- 
muthis.  She  has  not  been  out  of  the  Delta  where  her 
people  live  since  the  good  queen  died  forty  years  ago. 
She  must  be  well-nigh  a  hundred  years  old.  Aye,  I 
should  know  her  by  her  stature.  It  is  of  a  truth  the 
Lady  Miriam." 

At  the  sound  of  his  mistress'  name  one  of  the  bear- 
ers turned  and  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  the  speaker. 
Instantly  the  old  man  fell  back,  saying,  as  a  sneer  of 
contempt  ran  through  the  rabble  at  the  intelligence 
his  words  conveyed:  "Anger  them  not.  They  have 
the  evil  eye." 

Kenkenes  had  guessed  the  nationality  of  the  stran- 
gers immediately,  but  had  doubted  the  correctness  of 
his  surmise,  because  of  their  noble  mien.  If  he  suf- 
fered any  disappointment  in  hearing  proof  of  their 
identity,  it  was  immediately  nullified  by  the  joy  his 
artist-soul  took  in  the  stately  Hebrew  woman.  He  for- 
got the  mission  that  urged  him  to  the  temple  and,  per- 
mitting the  shifting,  restless  crowd  to  surround  him, 
he  lingered,  thinking.    This  proud  disdain  must  mark 

♦Punt — Arabia. 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  65 

his  goddess  of  stone  in  the  Arabian  hills,  this  majesty 
and  power;  but  there  must  be  youth  and  fire  in  the 
place  of  this  ancient  calm. 

A  porter  that  stood  beside  him,  emboldened  by  bar- 
ley beer  and  the  growing  disapproval  among  the  on- 
lookers, cried: 

"Ha!  by  the  rags  of  my  fathers,  she  outshines  her 
masters,  the  brickmaking  hag !" 

Kenkenes,  who  towered  over  the  ruffian,  became 
possessed  of  a  sudden  and  uncontrollable  indignation. 
He  pecked  the  man  on  the  head  with  the  knuckle  of 
his  forefinger,  saying  in  colloquial  Egyptian : 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  brawler,  nor  presume  to  flout  thy 
betters !" 

The  stately  Israelite,  who  had  taken  no  notice  of 
any  word  against  her,  now  turned  her  head  toward 
Kenkenes  and  slowly  inspected  him.  He  had  no  op- 
portunity to  guess  whether  her  gaze  was  approving, 
for  the  crowd  about  him,  grown  weary  of  waiting, 
had  become  quarrelsome  and  was  loudly  resenting  his 
defense  of  the  Hebrews.  The  porter,  supported  by 
several  of  his  brethren,  was  already  menacing  the 
young  sculptor  when  some  one  shouted  that  the  pro- 
cession was  in  sight. 

From  his  position  Kenkenes  commanded  a  long 
view  of  the  street  that  declined  sharply  toward  the 
river.  As  yet  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  of  the  pag- 
eant, but  the  dense  crowds  far  down  the  highway 
swayed  backward  from  the  narrow  path  between  them. 
Presently,  scantily-clad  runners  were  distinguished 
coming  in  a  slow  trot  between  the  multitudes.  The 
lane  widened  before  the  swing  of  their  maces  and 
there  were  cries  of  alarm  as  the  spectators  in  the  mid- 


66  THE   YOKE 

die  were  pressed  between  the  retreating  forward  ranks 
and  the  immovable  rear.  Running  water-bearers  pur- 
sued the  couriers  with  gurglets,  sprinkling  the  way. 
Directly  after  these,  slim  bare-limbed  youths  came  in 
a  rapid  pace  strewing  the  path  with  flowers  and  palm- 
leaves.  By  this  time  the  intermittent  sound  of  music 
had  grown  insistent  and  continuous.  Solemn  bodies 
of  priests  approached,  series  after  series  of  the  shaven, 
white-robed  ministers  of  Amen.  The  murmur  had 
grown  to  an  uproar.  The  wild  clamor  of  trumpet, 
pipe,  cymbal  and  sistrum,  with  the  long  drone  of  the 
arghool  as  undertone,  drifted  by.  The  upper  orders 
of  priests  followed  in  the  vibrating  wake  of  the  musi- 
cians. Then  came  Loi,  high-priest  to  the  patron  god 
of  Thebes,  walking  alone,  his  ancient  figure  most  piti- 
fully mocked  by  the  richness  of  his  priestly  robes. 

After  him  the  great  god,  Amen,  in  his  ark. 

The  air  was  rent  with  acclaim.  The  crowd  was  too 
dense  for  any  one  to  prostrate  himself,  but  every  Egyp- 
tian, potentate  or  slave,  assumed  as  nearly  as  possible 
the  posture  of  humility.  Kenkenes  bent  reverently, 
but  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  long  at  the  passing 
ark.  Six  priests  bore  it  upon  their  shoulders.  It  was 
a  small  boat,  elaborately  carved,  and  the  cabin  in  the 
center — the  retreat  of  the  deity — was  picketed  with  a 
cordon  of  sacred  images.  The  entire  feretory  was 
overlaid  with  gold  and  crusted  with  gems. 

Mentu,  his  father,  had  planned  one  for  Ptah,  and  a 
noble  work  it  Was, — quite  equal  to  this,  Kenkenes 
thought. 

His  artistic  deliberations  were  interrupted  by  an 
angry  tone  in  the  clamor  about  him.  The  Israelites 
had  called  out  a  demonstration  of  contempt  before, 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  67 

and  he  guessed  at  once  that  they  had  further  dis- 
pleased the  rabble.  It  was  even  as  he  had  thought. 
The  four  bearers  with  folded  arms  contemplated  the 
threatening  crowd  with  a  sidelong  gaze  of  contempt. 
The  stately  Israelite  stood  in  a  dream,  her  brilliant 
eyes  fixed  in  profound  preoccupation  on  the  distance. 
Kenkenes  knew  by  the  present  attitude  of  the  group 
that  they  had  made  no  obeisance  to  Amen.  Hence  the 
mutterings  among  the  faithful.  Few  had  seen  the 
offense  at  first,  but  the  demonstration  spread  neverthe- 
less, and  assumed  ominous  proportions. 

"Nay,  now,"  Kenkenes  thought  impatiently,  "such 
impiety  is  foolhardy."  But  he  drifted  into  the  group 
of  Hebrews  and  stood  between  the  woman  of  Israel 
and  her  insulters.  The  bearers  glanced  at4iim,  at  one 
another,  and  closed  up  beside  him,  but  he  had  eyes 
only  for  the  majestic  Israelite.  Not  till  he  saw  her 
bend  with  singular  grace  did  he  look  again  on  the 
pageant,  interested  to  know  what  had  won  her  homage. 

She  had  done  obeisance  before  the  crown  prince  of 
Egypt.  He  stood  in  a  sumptuous  chariot  drawn  by 
white  horses  and  driven  by  a  handsome  charioteer. 
The  princely  person  was  barely  visible  for  the  pair 
of  feather  fans  borne  by  attendants  that  walked  be- 
side him.  Through  continuous  cheering  he  passed  on. 
Seti,  the  younger,  followed,  driving  alone.  His  eyes 
wandered  in  pleased  wonder  over  the  multitude  which 
howled  itself  hoarse  for  him. 

Close  behind  him  was  a  chariot  of  ebony  drawn  by 
two  plunging,  coal-black  horses.  A  robust  Egyptian, 
who  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other  and  talked  to 
his  horses  continually,  drove  therein  alone.  As  he 
approached,  the  Hebrew  woman  raised  herself  so  sud- 


68  THE  YOKE 

denly  that  one  of  the  nervous  animals  side-stepped, 
affrighted.  The  swaggering  Egyptian,  with  a  mut- 
tered curse,  struck  at  her  with  his  whip.  The  four 
bearers  sprang  forward,  but  she  quieted  them  with  a 
few  words  in  Hebrew.  Reentering  her  litter  she  was 
borne  away,  while  the  Thebans  were  still  lost  in  the 
delights  of  the  procession. 

In  the  few  strange  words  of  the  woman  of  Israel, 
Kenkenes  had  caught  the  name  of  Har-hat.  This 
then  was  the  bearer  of  the  king's  fan — this  insulter 
of  age  and  womanhood.  And  the  words  of  Mentu 
seemed  very  fitting, — "I  like  him  not." 

The  Thebans  were  in  raptures.  The  splendors  of 
the  pageant  had  far  surpassed  their  expectations. 
Priests,  soldiers  and  officials  came  in  companies,  rank 
upon  rank,  of  exalted  and  ornate  dignity.  Chariots 
and  horses  shone  with  gilding,  polished  metal  and  gay 
housings,  while  the  marching  legions  clanked  with 
pike  and  blade  and  shield.  Now  that  the  chief  lumi- 
naries of  the  procession  had  passed,  the  rich  and  lofty 
departed  with  a  great  show  of  indifference  to  the  rest 
of  the  parade.  But  the  humbler  folk,  all  unlearned  in 
the  art  of  assumption,  had  not  reached  that  nice  point 
of  culture,  and  lingered  to  see  the  last  foot-soldier 
pass. 

Kenkenes,  urged  by  his  mission,  was  departing  with 
the  rich  and  lofty,  when  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  the  chief  leading  the  section  of  royal  scribes  now 
passing.  His  was  a  compact,  plump  figure,  amply 
robed  in  sheeny  linen,  and  he  balanced  himself  skil- 
fully in  his  light  shell  of  a  chariot,  which  bumped  over 
the  uneven  pavement.  He  was  not  a  brilliant  mark 
in  the  long  parade,  but  something  other  than  his  mere 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  69 

appearance  made  him  conspicuous.  Behind  him,  walk- 
ing at  a  respectful  distance,  was  his  corps  of  subordi- 
nates— all  mature,  many  of  them  aged,  but  the  years 
of  their  chief  were  fewer  than  those  of  the  youngest 
among  them.  From  the  center  of  the  crowd  his 
face  appeared  boyish,  and  the  multitude  hailed  him 
with  delight.  But  the  crown  prince  himself  was  not 
more  unmoved  by  their  acclaim.  His  silent  dignity, 
misunderstood,  brought  forth  howls  of  genuine  pleas- 
ure, and  groups  of  young  noblemen,  out  of  the  great 
college  of  Seti  I,  saluted  him  by  name,  adding  thereto 
exalted  titles  in  good-natured  derision. 

"Hotep!"  ejaculated  Kenkenes  aloud,  catching  the 
name  from  the  lips  of  the  students.  "By  Apis,  he  is 
the  royal  scribe!" 

Not  until  then  had  he  realized  the  extent  of  his 
friend's  exaltation. 

He  turned  again  toward  the  temple,  walking  be- 
tween the  crowds  and  the  marching  soldiers,  in- 
different to  the  shouts  of  the  spectators — lost  in  con- 
templation. But  the  procession  moved  more  swiftly 
than  he  and  the  last  rank  passed  him  with  half  his 
journey  yet  to  complete.  Instantly  the  vast  throng 
poured  out  into  the  way  behind  the  rearmost  soldier 
and  swallowed  up  the  sculptor  in  a  shifting  multi- 
tude. For  an  hour  he  was  hurried  and  halted  and 
pushed,  progressing  little  and  moving  much.  Before 
he  could  extricate  himself,  the  runners  preceding  the 
pageant  returning  the  great  god  to  his  shrine,  beat 
the  multitude  back  from  the  dromos  and  once  again 
Kenkenes  was  imprisoned  by  the  hosts.  And  once 
again  after  the  procession  had  passed,  he  did  fruitless 
battle  with  a  tossingr  human  sea.    But  when  the  street 


70  THE   YOKE 

had  become  freer,  he  stood  before  the  closed  portal 
of  the  great  temple.  The  solemn  porter  scrutinized 
the  young  sculptor  sharply,  but  the  display  of  the 
linen-wrapped  roll  was  an  efficient  passport.  In  a  lit- 
tle space  he  was  conducted  across  the  ringing  pave- 
ments, under  the  vaulted  shadows,  into  the  presence 
of  Loi,  high  priest  to  Amen. 

The  ancient  prelate  had  just  returned  from  install- 
ing the  god  in  his  shrine  and  was  yet  invested  in  his 
sacerdotal  robes.  At  one  time  this  splendid  raiment 
had  swathed  an  imposing  figure,  but  now  the  frame 
was  bowed,  its  whilom  comfortable  padding  fallen 
away,  its  parchment-like  skin  folded  and  wrinkled  and 
brown.  He  was  trembling  with  the  long  fatigue  of 
the  spectacle. 

He  spelled  the  hieratic  writings  upon  the  outer  cov- 
ering of  the  roll  which  the  young  man  presented  to 
him,  and  asked  with  some  eagerness  in  his  voice: 

"Hast  thou  traveled  with  all  speed?" 

"Scarce  eight  days  have  I  been  on  the  way.  Only 
have  I  been  delayed  a  few  hours  by  the  crowds  of  the 
festival." 

"It  is  well,"  replied  the  pontiff.  "Wait  here  while 
I  see  what  says  my  brother  at  On." 

He  motioned  Kenkenes  to  a  seat  of  inlaid  ebony 
and  retired  into  a  curtained  recess. 

The  apartment  into  which  Kenkenes  had  been  con- 
ducted was  small.  It  was  evidently  the  study  of  Loi, 
for  there  was  a  small  library  of  papyri  in  cases  against 
the  wall ;  a  deep  fauteuil  was  before  a  heavy  table  cov- 
ered with  loosely  rolled  writings.  The  light  from  a 
high  slit  under  the  architrave  sifted  down  on  the 
floor  strewn  with  carpets  of  Damascene  weave.    Two 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  71 

great  pillars,  closely  set,  supported  the  ceiling.  They 
were  of  red  and  black  granite,  and  each  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  foliated  encarpus  of  white  marble. 
The  ceiling  was  a  marvelous  marquetry  of  many  and 
wondrously  harmonious  colors. 

In  one  wall  was  the  entrance  leading  to  another 
chamber.  It  was  screened  by  a  slowly  swaying  cur- 
tain of  broidered  linen,  which  was  tied  at  its  upper 
corners  to  brass  rings  sunk  in  the  stone  frame  of  the 
door.  This  frame  attracted  the  attention  of  the  young 
sculptor.  It  consisted  of  two  caryatides  standing  out 
from  the  square  shaft  from  which  they  were  carved, 
their  erect  heads  barely  touching  the  ceiling.  The 
figures  were  of  heroic  size  and  wore  the  repose  and 
dignity  of  countenance  characteristic  of  Egyptian 
statues.  The  sculptor  had  been  so  successful  in  bring- 
ing out  this  expression  that  Kenkenes  stood  before 
them  and  groaned  because  he  had  not  followed  nature 
to  the  exquisite  achievement  he  might  have  attained. 

He  was  deeply  interested  in  his  critical  examina- 
tion of  the  figures  when  the  old  priest  darted  into  the 
apartment,  his  withered  face  working  with  excite- 
ment. 

"Go!  Go!"  he  cried.  "Eat  and  prepare  to  return 
to  Memphis  with  all  speed.  Thine  answer  will  await 
thee  here  to-night  at  the  end  of  the  first  watch, — and 
Set  be  upon  thee  if  thou  delayest !" 

Kenkenes,  startled  out  of  speech,  did  obeisance  and 
hastened  from  the  temple. 

The  outside  air  was  thick  with  dust  and  intensely 
hot  under  the  reddening  glare  of  the  sun.  It  was  late 
afternoon.  The  city  was  still  crowded,  the  river  front 
lined  with  a  dense  jam  of  people  awaiting  transporta- 


72  THE   YOKE 

tion  to  the  opposite  shore.  Kenkenes  knew  that  many 
would  still  be  there  on  the  morrow,  since  the  number 
of  boats  was  inadequate  to  carry  the  multitude  of 
passengers. 

He  began  to  think  with  concern  upon  the  security 
of  his  own  bari,  left  in  the  marsh-growth  by  the  Nile 
side,  north  of  Karnak.  He  left  the  shifting  crowd 
behind  and  struck  across  the  sandy  flat  toward  the 
arm  of  quiet  water.  Straggling  groups  preceded  and 
followed  him  and  at  the  Nile-side  he  came  upon  a 
number  contending  for  the  possession  of  his  boat. 
They  were  image-makers  and  curriers,  equally 
matched  against  one  another,  and  a  Nubian  servitor 
in  a  striped  tunic,  who  remained  neutral  that  he  might 
with  safety  join  the  winning  party.  The  appearance 
of  the  nobleman  checked  hostilities  and  the  contest- 
ants, recognizing  the  paternalism  of  rank  after  the 
manner  of  the  lowly,  called  upon  him  to  arbitrate. 

"The  boat  is  mine,  children,"*  was  his  quiet  answer. 
He  pushed  it  off,  stepped  into  it,  and  turned  it  broad- 
side to  them. 

"See  here,  the  scarab  of  Ptah,"  he  said,  tapping 
the  bow  with  a  paddle,  "and  the  name  of  Memphis?" 
With  that  he  drew  away  to  the  sandbar  before  the 
astonished  men  had  realized  the  turn  of  events.  Then 
they  looked  at  one  another  in  silence  or  muttered  their 
disgust ;  but  the  Nubian  went  into  transports  of  rage, 
making  such  violent  demonstrations  that  the  image- 
makers  and  curriers  turned  on  him  and  bade  him 
cease. 

At  the  Libyan  shore  Kenkenes  gave  his  bari  into 

♦The  oriental  master  calls  his  servants  "children." 


THE    PROCESSION    OF   AMEN  73 

the  hands  of  a  river-man  and  by  a  liberal  fee  pur- 
chased its  security  from  confiscation.  Then  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  center  of  the  western  suburb  of 
Thebes  Diospolis.  He  had  the  larger  palace  of 
Rameses  II  in  view  and  he  walked  briskly,  as  one  who 
goes  forward  to  meet  pleasure.  Only  once,  when  he 
passed  the  palace  and  temple  of  the  Incomparable 
Pharaoh,  which  stood  at  the  mouth  of  the  Valley  of 
the  Kings,  he  frowned  in  discontent.  Far  up  the  tortu- 
ous windings  of  this  gorge  was  the  tomb  of  the  great 
Rameses  and  there  had  the  precious  signet  been  lost. 
As  he  looked  at  the  high  red  ridge  through  which  this 
crevice  led,  he  remembered  his  father's  emphatic  pro- 
hibition and  bit  his  lip.  Thereafter,  throughout  a 
great  part  of  his  walk,  he  railed  mentally  against  the 
useless  loss  of  a  most  propitious  opportunity. 

To  the  first  resplendent  member  of  the  retinue  at 
Meneptah's  palace,  who  cast  one  glance  at  the  fillet 
the  sculptor  wore,  and  bent  suavely  before  him,  Ken- 
kenes  stated  his  mission.  The  retainer  bowed  again 
and  called  a  rosy  page  hiding  in  the  dusk  of  the 
corridor. 

"Go  thou  to  the  apartments  of  my  Lord  Hotep 
and  tell  him  a  visitor  awaits  him  in  his  chamber  of 
guests." 

The  lad  slipped  away  and  the  retainer  led  Kenkenes 
into  a  long  chamber  near  the  end  of  the  corridor. 
The  hall  had  been  darkened  to  keep  out  the  glare  of 
the  day,  air  being  admitted  only  through  a  slatted 
blind  against  which  a  shrub  in  the  court  outside  beat 
its  waxen  leaves.  Before  his  eyes  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  dusk  Kenkenes  heard  footsteps  coming 
down  the  outer  passage,  with  now  and  then  the  light 


n-L-_?TZL~.  "." 


76  THE   YOKE 

foliated  capitals,  supported  by  the  lofty  ceiling.  The 
few  men  gathered  in  council  were  surrounded,  over- 
shadowed, and  dwarfed  by  monumental  strength  and 
solemnity. 

Behind  a  solid  panel  of  carved  cedar,  which  hedged 
the  royal  dais,  stood  Meneptah.  Above  his  head  were 
the  intricate  drapings  of  a  canopy  of  gold  tissue.  On 
a  level  with  his  eyes,  at  his  side,  was  the  single  torch. 
His  vision,  like  his  father's,  was  defective.  He  was 
forty  years  old,  but  appeared  to  be  younger.  His 
person  was  plump,  and  in  stature  he  was  shorter  than 
the  average  Egyptian.  His  coloring  was  high  and  of 
uniform  tint.  The  arch  of  the  brow,  and  the  conspicu- 
ous distance  between  it  and  the  eye  below,  the  dis- 
dainful tension  of  the  nostril  and  the  drooping  corners 
of  the  mouth,  gave  his  face  the  injured  expression  of 
a  spoiled  child.  The  lips  were  of  similar  fullness  and 
the  chin  retreated.  There  was  refinement  in  his  face, 
but  no  force  nor  mo'dicum  of  perception. 

Below,  with  the  light  of  the  torch  wavering  up  and 
down  his  robust  figure,  was  Har-hat,  Meneptah's 
greatest  general  and  now  the  new  fan-bearer.  In  re- 
pose his  face  was  expressive  of  great  good-humor. 
Merriment  lighted  his  eyes  and  the  cut  of  his  mouth 
was  for  laughter.  But  the  smile  seemed  to  be  set  and, 
furthermore,  indicated  that  the  fan-bearer  found  much 
mirth  in  the  discomfiture  of  others.  Aside  from  this 
undefined  atmosphere  of  heartlessness,  it  can  not  be 
said  that  there  was  any  craft  or  wickedness  patent  on 
his  face,  for  his  features  were  good  and  indicative  of 
unusual  intelligence.     To  the  unobservant,  he  seemed 


THE    HEIR   TO    THE   THRONE  77 

to  be  a  lovable,  useful,  able  man.  However,  we  have 
seen  what  Mentu  thought  of  him,  and  Mentu's  estima- 
tion might  have  represented  that  of  all  profound 
thinkers.  But  to  the  latter  class,  most  assuredly, 
Meneptah  did  not  belong. 

Har-hat,  taking  the  place  of  the  king  during  the 
Rebu  war,  had  displayed  such  generalship  that  the 
Pharaoh  had  rewarded  him  at  the  first  opportunity 
with  the  highest  office,  except  the  regency,  at  his 
command. 

To  the  king's  right,  beside  the  dais,  with  a  hand 
resting  on  the  back  of  a  cathedra,  or  great  chair,  was 
the  crown  prince,  Rameses.  The  old  courtiers  of  the 
dead  grandsire,  visiting  the  court  of  Meneptah,  flung 
up  their  hands  and  gasped  when  they  beheld  the  heir 
to  the  double  crown  of  Egypt.  They  looked  upon  the 
old  Pharaoh,  renewed  in  youth  and  strength.  There 
were  the  same  narrow  temples  with  the  sloping  brow, 
the  same  hawked  nose,  the  same  full  lips,  the  same 
heavy  eye  with  the  smoldering  ember  in  its  dusky 
depths.  The  only  radical  dissimilarity  was  the  hue 
of  the  prince's  complexion.  It  was  a  strange,  un- 
Egyptian  pallor,  an  opaque  whiteness  with  dark  shad- 
ows that  belied  the  testimony  of  vigor  in  his  sinewy 
frame. 

The  old  courtiers  that  were  still  attached  to  the 
court  of  Meneptah  watched  with  fascination  the  devel- 
opment of  the  heir's  character.  He  was  twenty-two 
years  old  now  and  had  proved  that  no  alien  nature 
had  been  housed  in  the  old  Pharaoh's  shape.  If  any 
pointed  out  the  prince's  indolence  as  proving  him  un- 
like his  grandsire  the  old  courtiers  shook  their  heads 
and  said :    "He  does  not  reign  as  yet  and  he  but  saves 


78  THE   YOKE 

his  forces  till  the  crown  is  his."  So  Egypt,  stagnated 
at  the  pinnacle  of  power  by  the  accession  of  Meneptah, 
began  to  look  forward  secretly  to  the  reign  of  Rameses 
the  Younger,  with  a  hope  that  was  half  terror. 

To-night  he  stood  in  semi-dusk  robed  in  festal  at- 
tire, for  somewhere  a  rout  awaited  him.  And  of  the 
groups  of  power  and  rank  about  him,  none  seemed 
to  fit  that  majestic  council  chamber  so  well  as  he.  It 
was  not  the  robe  of  costly  stuffs  he  wore,  nor  the  trap- 
pings of  jewels,  which  if  he  moved  never  so  slightly 
emitted  a  shower  of  frosty  sparks — but  a  peculiar 
emanation  of  magnetism  that  at  once  repelled  and  at- 
tracted, and  made  him  master  over  the  monarch  him- 
self. He  had  never  met  repulse  or  defeat;  he  had 
never  entered  the  presence  of  his  peer;  he  had  never 
loved,  he  had  never  prayed.  He  was  a  solitary  power, 
who  admitted  death  as  his  only  equal,  and  defied  even 
him. 

The  other  counselors  were  minor  members  of  the 
cabinet,  who  had  been  summoned,  but  expected  only 
to  hear  and  keep  silence  while  the  great  powers — 
the  king,  the  prince,  the  priest  and  the  fan-bearer — 
conferred. 

Loi  entered,  bowing  and  walking  with  palsied  step. 
At  one  time  the  three  central  figures  of  the  hall  had 
been  his  pupils.  He  had  taught  them  from  the  sim- 
plest hieratic  catechism  to  the  initiation  into  the  mys- 
teries. As  novices  they  had  kissed  his  hand  and  borne 
him  reverence.  Now  as  the  initiated,  exalted  through 
the  acquisition  of  power,  it  lay  with  them  to  reverse 
conditions  if  they  pleased.  But  as  the  old  prelate 
prepared  to  do  obeisance  before  Meneptah,  he  was 
stayed  with  a  gesture,  and  after  a  word  of  greeting 


THE   HEIR   TO    THE   THRONE  79 

was  dismissed  to  his  place.  Rameses  saluted  him  with 
a  motion  of  his  hand  and  Har-hat  bowed  reverently. 
The  pontiff  backed  away  to  the  great  council  table  set 
opposite  the  throne  and  was  met  there  by  a  courtier 
with  a  chair. 

At  a  sign  from  the  king,  who  had  already  sunk  into 
his  throne,  the  old  man  sat. 

"Thou  bringest  us  tidings,  holy  Father?" 

"Even  so,  O  Son  of  Ptah." 

"Say  on." 

The  priest  moved  a  little  uncomfortably  and  glanced 
at  the  ministers  grouped  in  the  shadows. 

"Save  for  the  worthy  Har-hat  and  our  prince,  O  my 
King,  thou  hast  no  need  of  great  council,"  he  said. 

Meneptah  raised  his  hand  and  the  supernumerary 
ministers  left  the  chamber.  When  they  were  gone, 
Loi  unwrapped  the  roll  Kenkenes  had  brought  and 
began  to  read :     . 

"To  Loi,  the  most  high  Servant  of  Amen,  Lord  of 
Tape,  the  Servant  of  Ra,  at  On,  sends  greeting : 

"The  gods  lend  me  composure  to  speak  calmly  with 
thee,  O  Brother.  And  let  the  dismay  which  is  mine 
explain  the  lack  of  ceremony  in  this  writing. 

"It  is  not  likely  that  thou  hast  forgotten  the  good 
Queen  Neferari  Thermuthis'  foster-son — the  Hebrew 
Mesu,  whom  she  found  adrift  in  a  basket  on  Nilus. 
But  lest  the  years  have  driven  the  memory  of  his  mis- 
deeds from  thy  mind,  I  tell  again  the  story.  Thou 
knowest  he  was  initiated  a  priest  of  Isis,  and  scarce 
had  the  last  of  the  mysteries  been  disclosed  to  him, 
ere  it  was  seen  that  the  brotherhood  had  taken  an 
apostate  unto  itself. 

"By  the  grace  of  the  gods,  he  interfered  in  a  brawl 


80  THE   YOKE 

at  Pithom  and  killed  an  Egyptian.  Before  he  could 
be  taken  he  fled  into  Midian,  and  the  secrets  of  our 
order  were  safe,  for  a  time. 

"One  by  one  our  fellows  have  entered  Osiris.  The 
young  who  knew  not  have  filled  their  places.  Thou 
and  I,  only,  are  left — and  the  Hebrew! 

"He  hath  returned! 

"The  gods  make  strong  our  hands  against  him! 
He  went  away  as  a  menace,  but  he  returneth  as  a 
pestilence.  The  demons  of  Amenti  are  with  him,  and 
his  hour  is  most  propitious.  He  hath  sunk  himself 
in  the  Israelitish  pool  here  in  the  north,  and  he  will 
breathe  therefrom  such  vapors  as  may  destroy  Egypt 
— faith — state — all ! 

"The  bond-people  are  already  in  ferment.  There 
was  mutiny  at  Pa-Ramesu  recently,  when  three  hun- 
dred were  chosen  to  work  the  quarries.  Moreover,  the 
taskmasters  are  corrupt.  The  commander,  one  Atsu 
by  name,  appointed  when  the  chief  Merenra  became 
nomarch  over  Bubastis,  hath  disarmed  the  under- 
drivers,  removed  the  women  from  toil  and  restored 
many  privileges  which  are  ruinous  to  law  and  order. 
The  whole  Delta  is  in  commotion.  The  nomad  tribes 
near  the  Goshen  country  are  agitated;  communities 
of  Egyptian  shepherds  have  been  won  over  to  the  He- 
brew's cause,  and  now  the  Israelitish  renegade  needs 
but  to  betray  the  secrets  to  bring  such  calamity  upon 
Egypt  as  never  befell  a  nation. 

"But,  Brother,  he  is  within  reach  of  an  avenging 
hand !  Commission  us,  I  pray  thee,  to  protect  the  mys- 
teries after  any  manner  that  to  us  seemeth  good. 

"Despatch  is  urgent.  He  may  fly  again.  Give  us 
thine  answer  as  we  have  sent  this  to  thee — by  a  noble- 


THE   HEIR   TO   THE   THRONE  81 

man — a  swift  and  trusty  one,  and  the  blessings  of  the 
Radiant  Three  be  upon  thy  head. 

"Thy  servant,  the  Servant  of  Ra, 

"Snofru." 

When  the  priest  finished,  the  king  was  sitting  up- 
right, his  face  flushed  with  feeling. 

"Sedition !"  he  exclaimed ;  "organized  rebellion  in 
the  very  heart  of  my  realm !" 

He  paused  for  a  space  and  thrust  back  the  heavy 
fringes  of  his  cowl  with  a  gesture  of  peevish  impa- 
tience. 

"What  evil  humor  possesses  Egypt?"  he  burst  forth 
irritably.  "Hardly  have  I  overthrown  an  invader  be- 
fore my  people  break  out.  I  quiet  them  in  one  place 
and  they  revolt  in  another.  Must  I  turn  a  spear  upon 
mine  own  ?" 

"Well,"  he  cried,  stamping  his  foot,  when  the  three 
before  him  kept  silence,  "have  ye  no  word  to  say  ?" 

His  eyes  rested  on  Har-hat,  with  an  imperious  ex- 
pectation in  them.  The  fan-bearer  bent  low  before  he 
answered. 

"With  thy  gracious  permission,  O  Son  of  Ptah,"  he 
said,  "I  would  suggest  that  it  were  wise  to  cool  an  in- 
surrection in  the  simmering.  The  disaffection  seems 
to  be  of  great  extent.  But  the  Rameside  army  assem- 
bled on  the  ground  might  check  an  open  insurrection. 
Furthermore,  thou  hast  seen  the  salutary  effect  of  thy 
visit  to  Tape  when  she  forgot  her  duty  to  her  sover- 
eign. Thy  presence  in  the  Delta  would  undoubtedly 
expedite  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion  likewise." 

"O,  aye,"  Meneptah  declared.  "I  must  go  to  Tanis. 
It  seems  that  I  must  hasten  hither  and  thither  over 


82  THE   YOKE 

Egypt  pursuing  sedition  like  a  scent-hunting  jackal. 
Mayhap  if  I  were  divided  like  Osiris*  and  a  bit  of  me 
scattered  in  each  nome,  I  might  preserve  peace.  But 
it  goes  sore  against  me  to  drag  the  army  with  me. 
Hast  thou  any  simpler  plan  to  offer,  holy  Father?" 

The  old  priest  shifted  a  little  before  he  answered. 

"The  mysteries  of  the  faith  are  in  possession  of 
Mesu,"  he  began  at  last.  "The  writing  saith  he  hath 
exerted  great  influence  over  the  bond-people — in  truth 
he  hath  entered  a  peaceful  land  and  stirred  it  up — and 
time  is  but  needed  to  bring  the  unrest  to  open  warfare. 
Thou,  O  Meneptah,  and  thou,  O  Rameses,  and  thou, 
O  Har-hat,  each  being  of  the  brotherhood — ye  know 
that  we  hold  the  faith  by  scant  tenure  in  the  respect 
of  the  people.  Ye  know  the  perversity  of  humanity. 
Obedience  and  piety  are  not  in  them.  Though  they 
never  knew  a  faith  save  the  faith  of  their  fathers,  we 
must  pursue  them  with  a  gad,  tickle  them  with  pro- 
cessions and  awe  them  with  manifestations.  So  if  it 
were  to  come  over  the  spirit  of  this  Hebrew  to  betray 
the  mysteries,  to  scout  the  faith  and  overturn  the  gods, 
he  would  have  rabble  Egypt  following  at  his  heels. 

"As  the  writing  saith,  he  hath  the  destruction  of  the 
state  in  mind,  and  his  own  aggrandizement.  He  but 
beginneth  on  the  faith  because  he  seeth  in  that  a  rift 
wherein  to  put  the  lever  that  shall  pry  the  whole  state 
asunder.  So  with  two  and  a  half  millions  of  Hebrews 
and  a  horde  of  renegade  Egyptians  to  combat,  I  fear 
the  Rameside  army  might  spill  more  good  blood  than 

*Osiris — the  great  god  of  Egypt,  was  overcome  by  Set,  his 
body  divided  and  scattered  over  the  valley  of  the  Nile.  Isis, 
wife  of  Osiris,  gathered  up  the  remains  and  buried  them  at 
This  or  Abydos. 


THE    HEIR   TO   THE    THRONE  83 

is  worth  wasting  on  a  mongrel  multitude.  The  rabble 
without  a  leader  is  harmless.  Cut  off  the  head  of  the 
monster,  and  there  is  neither  might  nor  danger  in  the 
trunk.  Put  away  Mesu,  and  the  insurrection  will 
subside  utterly." 

The  priest  paused  and  Meneptah  stroked  the  polished 
coping  of  the  panel  before  him  with  a  nervous  hand. 
There  was  complete  silence  for  a  moment,  broken  at 
last  by  the  king. 

"Mesu,  though  a  Hebrew,  an  infidel  and  a  malefac- 
tor, is  a  prince  of  the  realm,  my  foster-brother — Nefer- 
ari's  favorite  son.  I  can  not  rid  myself  of  him  on  pro- 
vocation as  yet  misty  and  indirect." 

"Nay,"  he  added  after  another  pause,  "he  shall  not 
die  by  hand  of  mine."  The  prelate  raised  his  head 
and  met  the  eyes  of  the  king.  After  he  read  what  lay 
therein,  the  dissatisfaction  that  had  begun  to  show  on 
his  ancient  face  faded. 

The  Pharaoh  settled  back  into  his  seat  and  his  brow 
cleared  as  if  the  problem  had  been  settled.  But  sud- 
denly he  sat  up. 

"What  have  I  profited  by  this  council?  Shall  I 
take  the  army  or  leave  it  distributed  over  Egypt?" 
he  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  to  the  crown  prince. 
"Help  us,  my  Rameses,"  he  said  in  a  softer  tone.  "We 
had  well-nigh  forgotten  thee." 

Rameses  raised  himself  from  the  back  of  his  cathe- 
dra, against  which  he  lounged,  and  moved  a  step  for- 
ward. 

"A  word,  my  father,"  he  said  calmly.  "Thy  per- 
plexity hath  not  been  untangled  for  thee,  nor  even  a 
thread  pulled  which  shall  start  it  raveling.  The 
priesthood  can  kill  Mesu,"  he  said  to  Loi,  "and  it  will 


84  THE   YOKE 

do  them  no  hurt.  And  thou,  my  father,  canst  counte- 
nance it  and  seem  no  worse  than  any  other  monarch 
that  loved  his  throne.  Thus  ye  will  decapitate  the 
monster.  But  there  be  creatures  in  the  desert  which, 
losing  one  head,  grow  another.  Mesu  is  not  of  such 
exalted  or  supernatural  villainy  that  they  can  not  fill 
his  place.  Wilt  thou  execute  Israel  one  by  one  as  it 
raises  up  a  leader  against  thee?  Nay;  and  wilt  thou 
play  the  barbarian  and  put  two  and  a  half  million  at 
once  to  the  sword  ?" 

The  trio  looked  uncomfortable,  none  more  so  than 
the  Pharaoh.     The  prince  went  on  mercilessly. 

"Are  the  Hebrews  warriors?  Wouldst  thou  go 
against  a  host  of  trowel-wielding  slaves  with  an  army 
that  levels  lances  only  against  free-born  men?  And 
yet,  wilt  thou  wait  till  all  Israel  shall  crowd  into  thy 
presence  and  defy  thee  before  thou  actest?  And 
again,  wilt  thou  descend  on  them  with  arms  now 
when  they  may  with  justice  cry  'What  have  we  done  to 
thee?'    Thou  art  beset,  my  father." 

The  Pharaoh  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  answer,  but  the 
level  eye  of  the  prince  silenced  him. 

"Thou  hast  not  fathomed  the  Hebrew's  capabilities, 
my  father,"  Rameses  continued.  "In  him  is  a  wealth, 
a  power,  a  magnificence  that  thy  fathers  and  mine  built 
up  for  thee,  and  the  time  is  ripe  for  the  garnering  of 
thy  profit.  What  monarch  of  the  sister  nations  hath 
two  and  a  half  millions  of  hereditary  slaves — not  tribu- 
tary folk  nor  prisoners  of  war — but  slaves  that  are  his 
as  his  cattle  and  his  flocks  are  his?  What  monarch 
before  thee  had  them?  None  anywhere,  at  any  time. 
Thou  art  rich  in  bond-people  beyond  any  monarch 
since  the  gods  reigned." 


THE   HEIR   TO   THE   THRONE  85 

The  chagrin  died  on  the  Pharaoh's  face  and  he  wore 
an  expectant  look.  The  prince  continued  in  even 
tones. 

"By  use,  they  have  fitted  themselves  to  the  limits 
laid  upon  them  by  the  great  Rameses.  The  feeble 
have  died  and  the  frames  of  the  sturdy  have  become 
like  brass.  They  have  bred  like  beetles  in  the  Nile 
mud  for  numbers.  Ignorant  of  their  value,  thou  hast 
been  indifferent  to  their  existence.  Forgetting  them 
was  pampering  them.  They  have  lived  on  the  bounty 
of  Egypt  for  four  hundred  years  and,  save  for  the 
wise  inflictions  of  a  year  or  two  by  the  older  Pharaohs, 
they  have  flourished  unmolested.  How  they  repay 
thee,  thou  seest  by  this  writing.  Now,  by  the  gods, 
turn  the  face  of  a  master  upon  them.  Remove  the 
soft  driver,  Atsu,  and  put  one  in  his  stead  who  is 
worthy  the  office.  Tickle  them  to  alacrity  and  obe- 
dience with  the  lash — yoke  them — load  them — fill  thy 
canals,  thy  quarries,  thy  mines  with  them — "  He 
broke  off  and  moved  forward  a  step  squarely  facing 
the  Pharaoh. 

"Thou  hast  thine  artist — that  demi-god  Mentu,  in 
whom  there  is  supernatural  genius  for  architecture  as 
well  as  sculpture.  Make  him  thy  murket*  as  well, 
and  with  him  dost  thou  know  what  thou  canst  do 
with  these  slaves?  Thou  canst  rear  Karnak  in 
every  herdsman's  village;  thou  canst  carve  the  twin 
of  Ipsambul  in  every  rock-front  that  faces  the 
Nile;  thou  canst  erect  a  pyramid  tomb  for  thee  that 
shall  make  an  infant  of  Khufu;  thou  canst  build  a 

*Murket — the  royal  architect,  an  exalted  office  usually  held 
by  princes  of  the  realm. 


86  THE   YOKE 

highway  from  Syene  to  Tanis  and  line  it  with  sisters 
of  the  Sphinx ;  thou  canst  write  the  name  of  Meneptah 
above  every  other  name  on  the  world's  monuments 
and  it  shall  endure  as  long  as  stone  and  bronze  shall 
last  and  tradition  go  on  from  lip  to  lip !" 

The  prince  paused  abruptly.  Meneptah  was  on  his 
feet,  almost  in  tears  at  the  contemplation  of  his  pictured 
greatness. 

"Mark  ye!"  the  prince  began  again.  His  arm  shot 
out  and  fell  and  the  flash  of  its  jewels  made  it  look 
like  a  bolt  of  lightning.  "I  would  not  fall  heir  to 
Israel — and  if  these  things  are  done  in  thy  lifetime  I 
must  build  my  monuments  with  prisoners  of  war !" 

The  old  hierarch,  who  had  been  nervously  rubbing 
the  arm  of  his  chair  during  the  last  of  the  prince's 
speech,  broke  the  dead  silence  with  an  awed  whisper. 

"Ah,  then  spake  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh !" 

Meneptah  put  out  his  hand,  smiling. 

"No  more.  The  way  is  shown.  I  follow,  O  my 
Rameses !" 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE    LADY    MIRIAM 

Meanwhile  the  scribe  of  the  "double  house  of 
life,"  and  the  son  of  the  royal  sculptor  were  taking 
comfort  on  the  palace-top  beneath  the  subdued 
light  of  a  hooded  lamp. 

The  pair  had  spoken  of  all  Memphis  and  its  gos- 
sip ;  had  given  account  of  themselves  and  had  caught 
up  with  the  present  time  in  the  succession  of  events. 

"Hotep,  at  thy  lofty  notch  of  favor,  one  must 
have  the  wisdom  of  Toth,"  Kenkenes  observed, 
adding  with  a  laugh,  "mark  thou,  I  have  compared 
thee  with  no  mortal." 

Hotep  shook  his  head. 

"Nay,  any  man  may  fill  my  position  so  he  but 
knows  when  to  hold  his  tongue  and  what  to  say 
when  he  wags  it." 

"O,  aye,"  the  sculptor  admitted  in  good-natured 
irony.  "Those  be  simple  qualifications  and  easy 
to  combine." 

The  scribe  smiled. 

"Mine  is  no  arduous  labor  now.  During  my  years 
of  apprenticeship  I  was  sorely  put  to  it,  but  now  I 
have  only  to  wait  upon  the  king  and  look  to  it  that 
mine  underlings  are  not  idle.  If  another  war  should 
come — if  any  manner  of  difficulty  should  arise  in  mat- 
ters of  state,  I  doubt  not  mine  would  be  a  heavy  lot." 

87 


88  THE  YOKE 

The  young  man  spoke  of  war  and  fellowship  with 
a  monarch  as  if  he  had  been  a  lady's  page  and  gossiped 
of  fans  and  new  perfumes. 

Kenkenes  looked  at  him  with  a  full  realization  of 
the  incongruity  of  the  youth  of  the  man  and  the 
weight  of  the  office  that  was  his. 

But  at  close  range  the  scribe's  face  was  young  only 
in  feature  and  tint.  He  was  born  of  an  Egyptian  and 
a  Danaid,  and  the  blond  alien  mother  had  impressed 
her  own  characteristics  very  strongly  on  her  son. 

He  had  a  plump  figure  with  handsome  curves,  wav- 
ing, chestnut  hair  and  a  fair  complexion.  Nose  and, 
forehead  were  in  line.  The  eyes  were  of  that  type 
of  gray  that  varies  in  shade  with  the  mental  state. 
His  temper  displayed  itself  only  in  their  sudden  harden- 
ing into  the  hue  of  steel ;  content  and  happiness  made 
them  blue.  They  were  always  steady  and  comprehend- 
ing, so  that  whoever  entered  his  presence  for  the  first 
time  said  to  himself:  "Here  is  a  man  that  discovers 
my  very  soul." 

Whatever  other  blunder  Meneptah  might  have  made, 
he  had  redeemed  himself  in  the  wisdom  he  displayed 
in  choosing  his  scribe.  Kenkenes  had  been  led  to  ask 
how  Hotep  had  come  to  his  place. 

"My  superior,  Pinem,  died  without  a  son,"  the  scribe 
had  explained;  "and  as  my  record  was  clean,  and  the 
princes  had  ever  been  my  patrons,  the  Pharaoh  exalted 
me  to  the  scribeship." 

Kenkenes  had  then  set  down  a  mark  in  favor  of  the 
princes. 

"I  doubt  not,"  the  scribe  observed  at  last,  "that  my 
time  of  ease  is  short-lived." 

The  sculptor  looked  at  him  with  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 


THE   LADY   MIRIAM  89 

"When  sedition  arises  and  defies  the  Pharaoh  in 
his  audience  chamber,"  Hotep  went  on,  "it  has  reached 
the  stage  of  a  single  alternative — success  or  death. 
Dost  know  the  Lady  Miriam?" 

"The  Israelite?" 

"Even  so." 

"I  saw  her  this  day." 

"Good.  Now,  look  upon  the  scene.  Thou  knowest 
she  is  the  sister  of  Prince  Mesu,  and  the  favorite 
waiting-woman  of  the  good  Queen  Thermuthis.  She 
has  lived  in  obscurity  for  forty  years,  but  this  morning 
she  swept  into  the  audience  chamber,  did  majestic 
obeisance  and  besought  a  word  'with  him  who  was  an 
infant  in  her  maturity,'  she  said.  The  council  chamber 
was  filled  with  those  gathered  to  welcome  Har-hat. 
Meneptah  bade  her  speak.  Hast  thou  ever  heard  an 
Israelitish  harangue  ?"  he  broke  off  suddenly. 

Kenkenes  shook  his  head. 

"Ah,  theirs  is  pristine  oratory — occult  eloquence," 
the  scribe  said  earnestly,  "and  she  is  mistress  of  the 
art.  She  told  the  history  of  Israel  and  catalogued  its 
wrongs  in  a  manner  that  lacked  only  measure  and  mu- 
sic to  make  it  a  song.  But,  Kenkenes,  she  did  not  move 
us  to  compunction  and  pity.  When  she  had  done,  we 
had  not  looked  on  a  picture  of  suffering  and  oppres- 
sion, but  of  insulted  pride  and  rebellion.  Instead  of 
compunction,  she  awakened  admiration,  instead  of 
pity,  respect.  For  the  moment  she  represented,  not  a 
multitude  of  complaining  slaves,  but  a  race  of  in- 
dignant peers. 

"Meneptah — ah !  the  good  king,"  the  scribe  went  on, 
"was  impressed  like  the  rest  of  us.  But  finally  he 
showed  her  that  the  Israelites  were  what  they  were 


9o  THE   YOKE 

by  the  consent  of  the  gods ;  that  their  unwillingness 
but  increased  the  burden.  He  pointed  out  the  ex- 
ample of  his  illustrious  sires  as  justification  for  his 
course ;  enumerated  some  of  their  privileges, — the  fer- 
tile country  given  them  by  Egypt,  and  the  freedom 
that  was  theirs  to  worship  their  own  God, — and  sum- 
marily refused  to  indulge  them  further. 

"Then  she  became  ominous.  She  bade  him  have 
a  care  for  the  welfare  of  Egypt  before  he  refused  her. 
Her  words  were  dark  and  full  of  evil  portent.  The 
air  seemed  to  winnow  with  bat-wings  and  to  reek  with 
vapors  from  witch-potions  and  murmur  with  mystic 
formulas.  Every  man  of  us  crept,  and  drew  near  to 
his  neighbor.  When  she  paused  for  an  answer,  the 
king  hesitated.  She  had  menaced  Egypt  and  it  stir- 
reth  the  heart  of  the  father  when  the  child  is  threat- 
ened. He  turned  to  Har-hat  in  his  perplexity  and 
craved  his  counsel.  The  fan-bearer  laughed  good- 
naturedly  and  begged  the  Pharaoh's  permission  to 
send  her  to  the  mines  before  she  bewitched  his  cattle 
and  troubled  him  with  visions.  Har-hat's  unconcern 
made  men  of  us  all  once  more,  but  Meneptah  shook 
his  head.  'The  name  of  Neferari  Thermuthis  defends 
her,'  he  said ;  'let  her  go  hence'." 

"  'And  I  take  no  amelioration  to  my  people  ?'  she 
demanded.  'Nay,'  he  replied,  'not  in  the  smallest  part 
shall  their  labor  be  lessened.' 

"Holy  Isis,  thou  shouldst  have  seen  her  then,  Ken- 
kenes ! 

"She  approached  the  very  dais  of  the  throne  and, 
throwing  up  her  arms,  flung  her  defiance  into  the  face 
of  her  sovereign.  It  were  treason  to  utter  her  words 
again.    I  have  seen  men  white  and  shaking  from  rage, 


THE   LADY   MIRIAM  91 

but  Meneptah  never  hath  so  much  of  temper  to  display. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  that  the  king  was  afraid,  but 
I  tell  you,  Kenkenes,  mine  own  hair  is  not  yet  content 
to  lie  flat.  She  concentrated  all  the  denunciatory 
bitterness  of  the  tongue  and  pronounced  and  gloried 
in  the  doom  of  the  dynasty,  heaping  the  blame  of  its 
destruction  upon  the  head  of  Meneptah !" 

The  scribe  finished  his  story  in  a  whisper.  Kenkenes 
was  by  this  time  sitting  up,  his  eyes  shining  with  in- 
terest and  wonder. 

"Gods !  HotepH  thou  dost  make  me  creep." 

"Creep!"  the  scribe  responded  heartily,  "never  in 
my  life  have  I  so  wanted  to  flee  a  royal  audience. 
When  she  had  done,  she  turned  and  swept  from  the 
presence  and  no  man  lifted  a  finger  to  stay  her." 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  expressive  silence  be- 
tween the  two  young  men.  At  last  Kenkenes  broke  it 
in  a  voice  of  intense  admiration.. 

"What  an  intrepid  spirit !  Small  wonder  that  she 
did  not  heed  the  condemnation  of  the  rabble  at  mid- 
day— she  who  was  fresh  from  a  triumph  over  the 
Pharaoh !"         ' 

Hotep's  eyes  widened  warningly  and  he  shook  his 
head. 

"Nay,  hush  me  not,  Hotep,"  Kenkenes  went  on  in  a 
reckless  whisper.  "I  must  say  it.  Would  to  the  gods 
I  had  been  there  to  copy  it  in  stone !" 

"Hush!  babbler!"  the  scribe  exclaimed,  his  eyes 
twinkling  nevertheless,  "thine  art  will  make  an  un- 
timely mummy  of  thee  yet." 

Kenkenes  poured  out  his  first  glass  of  wine  and  set 
it  down  untasted.  The  contemplated  sacrilege  in  stone 
opposite  Memphis  confronted  him. 


92  THE   YOKE 

"If  Egypt's  lack  of  art  does  not  kill  me  first,"  he 
added  in  defense. 

"Nay,"  Hotep  protested,  "why  wouldst  thou  perpetu- 
ate the  affront  to  the  Pharaoh  ?" 

"Because  it  is  history  and  a  better  delineation  of 
the  Israelitish  character  than  all  the  wordy  chronicles 
of  the  historians  could  depict,"  was  the  spirited  reply. 

"But  the  ritual,"  Hotep  began,  with  the  assurance 
of  a  man  that  feels  he  is  armed  with  unanswerable 
argument. 

"Sing  me  no  song  of  the  ritual,"  Kenkenes  broke 
in  impatiently.  "The  ritual  offends  mine  ears — my 
sight,  my  sense.  We  have  quarreled  beyond  any 
treaty-making — ever." 

The  other  looked  at  him  with  amazement  and  much 
consternation. 

"Art  thou  mad?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Nay,  but  I  am  rebellious — as  rebellious  as  the 
Israelite,  for  I  have  already  shaken  my  fist  in  the  face 
of  the  sculptor's  canons.  And  the  time  will  come 
when  the  world  will  call  my  revolt  just.  I  would 
there  were  a  chronicler,  here,  now,  to  write  me  down, 
since  I  would  be  remembered  as  the  pioneer.  I  shall 
win  no  justification,  in  these  days,  perhaps  only  perse- 
cution, but  I  would  reap  my  reward  of  honor,  though 
it  be  a  thousand  years  in  coming." 

"Thou  hast  a  grudge  against  the  conventional  forms 
and  the  rules  of  the  ritual?"  Hotep  asked,  after  a 
thoughtful  silence. 

"I  have  a  distaste  for  the  horrors  it  compels  and  am 
ignorant  of  their  use,"  Kenkenes  answered  stubbornly. 

"Kenkenes,"  the  scribe  began,  "Law  is  a  most  inex- 
orable thing.     It  is  the  governor  of  the  Infinite.     It 


THE   LADY   MIRIAM  93 

is  a  tyrant,  which,  good  or  bad,  can  demand  and  en- 
force obedience  to  its  fiats.  It  is  a  capricious  thing 
and  it  drags  its  vassal — the  whole  created  world 
— after  it  in  its  mutations,  or  stamps  the  rebel  into  the 
dust  while  the  time-serving  obedient  ones  applaud.  So 
thou  hast  set  up  resistance  against  a  thing  greater  than 
gods  and  men  and  I  can  not  see  thee  undone.  I  love 
thee,  but  I  should  be  an  untrue  friertd  did  I  abet  thee 
in  thy  lawlessness.  Submit  gracefully  and  thy  cause 
shall  have  an  audience  with  Law  some  day — if  it  have 
merit." 

The  young  sculptor's  face  was  passive,  but  his  eyes 
were  fixed  sadly  on  the  remote  stars  strewn  above  him. 
He  felt  inexpressibly  solitary.  His  zest  in  his  con- 
victions did  not  flag,  but  it  seemed  that  the  whole 
world  and  the  heavens  had  receded  and  left  him  alone 
with  them. 

Again  Hotep  spoke. 

"There  is  more  court  gossip,"  he  began  cheerily, 
as  if  no  word  had  been  said  that  could  depress  the  tone 
of  the  conversation. 

Kenkenes  accepted  the  new  subject  gladly. 

"Out  with  it,"  he  said.  "Within  the  four  walls 
of  my  world  I  hear  naught  but  the  clink  of  mallet  and 
falling  stone." 

"The  breach  between  Meneptah  and  Amon-meses, 
his  mutinous  brother,  may  be  healed  by  a  wedding." 

"So?" 

"Of  a  surety — nay,  and  not  of  a  surety,  either,  but 
mayhap.  A  match  between  the  niece  of  Amon-meses, 
the  Princess  Ta-user,  and  the  heir,  Rameses." 

Kenkenes  sat  up  again  in  his  earnestness.  "Nay," 
he  exclaimed.     "Never!" 


94  THE   YOKE 

"Wherefore,  I  pray  thee  ?"  Hotep  asked  with  a  dep- 
recating smile. 

"There  is  no  mating  between  the  lion  and  the  eagle ; 
the  stag  and  the  asp!     They  could  not  love." 

"Thou  dreamy  idealist !"  Hotep  laughed.  "The  half 
of  great  marriages  are  moves  of  strategy,  attended 
more  by  Set*  than  Athor.  f  Ta-user  is  mad  for  the 
crown,  Rameses  for  undisputed  power.  Each  has  one 
of  these  two  desirable  things  to  give  the  other." 

"And  how  shall  they  appease  Athor?"  Kenkenes 
demanded  warmly.  "Ta-user  loves  Siptah,  the  son  of 
Amon-meses,  and  Rameses  will  crown  whom  he  loves 
though  he  had  a  thousand  other  crown-loving,  treaty- 
dowered  wives !" 

Hotep  smiled.  "I  thought  the  four  walls  of  thy 
world  hedged  thee,  but  it  seems  thou  art  right  well 
acquainted  with  royalty." 

"Scoff !"  Kenkenes  cried.  "But  I  can  tell  thee  this  : 
Rameses  will  put  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  Amon-meses 
if  the  pretender  trouble  him,  and  will  wed  with  a  slave- 
girl  if  she  break  the  armor  over  his  iron  heart." 

Hotep  laughed  again  and  suggested  another  sub- 
ject. 

"The  new  fan-bearer,"  he  began. 

"Nay,  what  of  him?"  Kenkenes  broke  in  at  once. 
"And  shall  we  quarrel  about  him,  also  ?" 

"Dost  thou  know  him?"  Hotep  queried. 

"Right  well — from  afar  and  by  hearsay." 

"Do  thou  express  thyself  first  concerning  him,  and 

*Set — the  war-god. 

t Athor — the  Egyptian  Venus;  the  feminine  love-deity. 


THE   LADY   MIRIAM  95 

I  shall  treat  thee  to  the  courtier's  diplomacy  if  I  agree 
not." 

"I  like  him  not,"  Kenkenes  responded  bluntly. 

Hotep  leaned  toward  him,  with  the  smile  gone  from 
his  face,  the  jest  from  his  manner,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  sculptor's.  The  pressure  spoke  eloquently  of 
hearty  concord.  "But  he  has  a  charming  daughter," 
he  said. 

Kenkenes  inspected  his  friend's  face  critically,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  read  thereon. 

A  palace  attendant  approached  across  the  paved 
roof  and  bent  before  the  scribe. 

"A  summons  from  the  Son  of  Ptah,  my  Lord,"  he 
said. 

"At  this  hour?"  Hotep  said  in  some  surprise  as  he 
arose.    "I  shall  return  immediately,"  he  told  Kenkenes. 

"Nay,"  the  sculptor  observed,  "my  time  is  nearly 
gone.     Let  me  depart  now." 

"Not  so.  I  would  go  with  thee.  This  will  be  no 
more  than  a  note.  If  it  be  more  I  shall  put  mine  un- 
derlings to  the  task." 

He  disappeared  in  the  dark.  Kenkenes  lay  back 
on  the  divan  and  thought  on  the  many  things  that  the 
scribe  had  told  him.  But  chiefly  he  pondered  on  Har- 
hat  and  the  Israelite. 

When  Hotep  returned  he  carried  his  cowl  and  man- 
tle, and  a  scroll.  "I  too,  am  become  a  messenger," 
he  said,  "but  I  am  self-appointed.  This  note  was  to 
go  by  a  palace  courier,  but  I  relieved  him  of  the  task." 

The  pair  made  ready  and  departed  through  the 
still  populous  streets  of  Thebes  to  the  Nile.  There 
they  were  ferried  over  to  the  wharves  of  Luxor. 


96  THE   YOKE 

At  the  temple  the  porter  conducted  them  into  the 
chamber  in  which  the  ancient  prelate  spent  his  short- 
ening hours  of  labor.  He  was  there  now,  at  his  table, 
and  greeted  the  young  men  with  a  nod.  But  taking 
a  second  look  at  Hotep,  he  beckoned  him  with  a 
shaking  finger. 

"Didst  bring  me  aught,  my  son?"  he  asked  as  the 
scribe  bent  over  him. 

"Aye,  holy  Father;  this  message  to  the  taskmaster 
over  Pa-Ramesu." 

"Ah,"  the  old  man  said.    "Is  that  not  yet  gone  ?" 

"Nay,  the  Pharaoh  asks  that  thou  insert  the  name 
of  him  whom  thou  didst  recommend  for  Atsu's  place. 
The  Son  of  Ptah  had  forgotten  him." 

The  old  man  pushed  several  scrolls  aside  and  pre- 
pared to  make  the  addition. 

"But  thou  art  weary,  holy  Father;  let  me  do  it," 
Hotep  protested  gently. 

"Nay,  nay,  I  can  do  it,"  the  old  man  insisted. 
"See!"  drawing  forth  a  scroll  unaddressed.  "I  have 
written  all  this  in  an  hour.  O  aye,  I  can  write  with 
the  young  men  yet."  He  made  the  interlineation, 
rolled  the  scroll  and  sealed  it.  "I  am  sturdy,  still." 
At  that  moment,  he  dropped  his  pen  on  the  floor  and 
bent  to  pick  it  up,  but  was  forestalled  by  Hotep.  Then 
he  addressed  the  scrolls,  carefully  dried  the  ink  with 
a  sprinkling  of  sand  and  delivered  one  to  Hotep,  the 
other  to  Kenkenes.  "This  to  the  king,  and  that  to 
Snofru.  The  gods  give  thee  safe  journey,"  he  con- 
tinued to  Kenkenes.    "Who  art  thou,  my  son?" 

"I  am  the  son  of  Mentu,  holy  Father.  My  name  is 
Kenkenes,"  the  young  man  answered. 

"Mentu,  the  royal  sculptor?" 


THE   LADY   MIRIAM  97 

Kenkenes  bowed. 

"Nay,  but  I  am  glad.  I  knew  thy  father,  and  since 
thou  art  of  his  blood,  thou  art  faithful.  Let  neither 
death  nor  fear  overtake  thee,  for  thou  hast  the  peace 
of  Egypt  in  thy  very  hands.     Fail  not,  I  charge  thee !" 

After  a  reverent  farewell,  the  two  young  men  went 
forth. 

A  slender  Egyptian  youth  went  with  them  to  the 
wharves  and  awakened  the  sleeping  crew  of  a  bari. 

Hotep  they  carried  across  and  set  ashore  on  the 
western  side. 

"May  the  same  favoring  god  that  brought  thee 
hither,  grant  thee  a  safe  journey  home,  my  friend.  The 
court  comes  to  Memphis  shortly.  Till  then,  farewell," 
said  Hotep. 

"All  Memphis  will  hail  her  illustrious  son,  O  Hotep. 
Farewell." 

It  was  not  long  until  the  sculptor  was  drifting  down 
toward  Memphis  under  a  starry  sky — the  shadowy 
temples  of  Thebes  hidden  by  the  sudden  closing-in  of 
the  river-hills  about  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ATH0R,    THE   GOLDEN 

At  sunrise  the  morning  after  his  return  from  On, 
Kenkenes  appeared  at  the  Nile,  attended  by  a  burden- 
bearing  slave. 

The  first  lean,  brown  boatman  who  touched  his  knee 
and  offered  his  bari  for  hire,  Kenkenes  patronized. 
The  slave  had  eased  his  load  into  the  boat  and  Ken- 
kenes was  on  the  point  of  embarking  when  a  four- 
oared  bari,  which  had  passed  them  like  the  wind  a 
moment  before,  put  about  several  rods  above  them 
and  returned  to  the  group  on  shore. 

A  bent  and  withered  servitor  was  standing  in  the 
bow  of  the  boat,  wildly  gesticulating,  as  if  he  feared 
Kenkenes  would  insist  on  pulling  away  despite  his 
efforts.  The  young  man  recognized  the  servant  of 
Snofru,  old  Ranas. 

The  large  bari  was  beached  and  the  servitor 
alighted  with  agility  and,  beckoning  to  Kenkenes,  took 
him  aside. 

"There  has  been  an  error — a  grave  error,  concern- 
ing the  message,"  the  old  man  began  in  excitement; 
"but  thou  art  in  no  wise  at  fault.  Yet  mayhap  thou 
canst  aid  us  in  unraveling  the  tangle.     See !" 

He  displayed  the  linen-wrapped  roll,  the  covering 
split  where  Snofru  had  opened  it,  but  the  wavering 

98 


ATHOR,    THE    GOLDEN  99 

hieratic  characters  of  the  address  in  Loi's  hand,  still 
intact. 

When  the  young  sculptor  had  gazed,  the  old  servant 
nervously  undid  the  roll,  and  showed  within  a  letter 
to  the  commander  over  Pa-Ramesu,  written  in  the 
strong  epistolary  symbols  of  the  royal  scribe. 

Kenkenes  frowned  with  vexation.  Innocent  and 
efficient  though  he  had  been,  the  miscarriage  of  his 
mission  stung  him  nevertheless.  The  blunder  was 
not  long  a  mystery  to  him. 

Summoning  all  the  patience  at  his  command,  he 
recounted  the  events  in  the  apartments  of  the  ancient 
hierarch  of  Amen. 

"There  were  two  scrolls,"  he  explained;  "one  to 
the  Servant  of  Ra  at  On,  the  other  to  Atsu.  The 
holy  father  sealed  them  both  before  he  addressed  them 
and  confused  the  directions.  The  one  which  I  should 
have  brought  to  thine  august  master,  hath  gone  to  the 
taskmaster  over  Pa-Ramesu." 

"Thou  madest  all  speed?"  the  servant  demanded, 
trembling  with  eagerness.  « 

"A  half-day's  journey  less  than  the  usual  time  I 
made  in  returning.  I  doubt  much,  if  the  messenger 
with  the  other  scroll  hath  passed  Memphis  yet,  since 
he  may  not  have  been  despatched  in  such  hot  haste. 
Furthermore,  because  of  the  festivities  in  Tape,  it 
would  have  been  well-nigh  impossible  for  him  to  hire 
a  boat  until  the  next  day." 

This  information  kindled  a  light  of  hope  on  the  old 
servant's  face. 

"Thou  givest  me  life  again,"  he  exclaimed.  "The 
blessings  of  Ra  be  upon  thee !" 

Without  further  words  he  ran  back  to  the  boat,  and 


ioo  THE   YOKE 

the  last  Kenkenes  saw  of  him,  he  was  frantically  urg- 
ing his  boatmen  to  greater  speed,  back  to  On. 

Kenkenes  had  come  to  the  Nile  that  morning,  re- 
joicing in  the  propitiousness  of  his  opportunity. 
Mentu  was  at  that  moment  in  On,  seeing  to  the  decora- 
tion of  the  second  obelisk  reared  by  Meneptah  to  the 
sun.  The  great  artist  had  prepared  to  be  absent  a 
month,  and  had  left  no  work  for  his  son  to  do.  But 
the  coming  of  Ranas  with  the  news  of  his  mission's 
failure  had  filled  Kenkenes  with  angry  discomfiture. 

He  dismissed  his  slave  and  rowed  down-stream 
toward  Masaarah. 

As  he  approached  the  abandoned  wharf,  a  glance 
showed  him  that  some  effort  toward  restoring  it  had 
been  made.  The  overgrowth  of  vines  had  been  cut 
away  and  the  level  of  the  top  had  been  raised  by  several 
fragments  of  rough  stone. 

The  tracks  of  heavy  sledges  had  crushed  the  young 
grain  across  the  field  toward  the  cliffs. 

Kenkenes  stood  up  and  looked  toward  the  terraced 
front  of  the  hills,  in  which  were  the  quarries. 

There  were  dust,  smoke,  stir  and  moving  figures. 

The  stone-pits  were  active  again  after  the  lapse  of 
half  a  century. 

"By  the  grace  of  the  mutable  Hathors,"  the  young 
man  muttered  as  he  dropped  back  into  his  seat,  "my 
father  may  yet  decorate  a  temple  to  Set,  but  by  the 
same  favor,  it  seems  that  I  shall  be  snatched  from 
the  brink  of  a  sacrilege." 

He  permitted  his  boat  to  drift  while  he  contem- 
plated his  predicament.  Suddenly  he  smote  his  hands 
together. 

"Grant  me  pardon,  ye  Seven  Sisters !"  he  exclaimed. 


ATHOR,    THE    GOLDEN  loi 

"I  misread  your  decree.  Ye  have  but  covered  my 
tracks  toward  transgression." 

After  a  little  thought  he  resumed  his  felicitations. 

"Who  of  Memphis  will  think  I  come  to  Masaarah, 
save  to  look  after  the  taking  out  of  stone?  Is  it  not 
part  of  my  craft?  Nay,  but  I  shall  make  offering 
in  the  temple  for  this.  And  need  any  of  these  unhappy 
creatures  in  Masaarah  see  me  except  as  it  pleases  me 
to  show  myself  ?" 

He  seized  his  oars  and  rowed  down  the  river  another 
furlong.  Leaving  the  craft  fixed  in  the  tangle  of 
herbage  at  the  water's  edge,  he  shouldered  his  cargo 
and  crossed  the  narrow  plain  to  the  cliffs  below 
.l&asaarah.  There  he  made  a  difficult  ascent  of  the 
fronts  facing  the  Nile  and  reached  his  block  of  stone 
without  approaching  the  hamlet  of  laborers. 

Depositing  his  burden,  he  set  forth  to  reconnoiter. 

He  descended  again  into  the  Nile  valley  by  the  way 
he  had  come  and  wandered  toward  the  mouth  of  the 
gorge.  From  a  little  distance  he  looked  upon  a  scene 
of  great  activity.  In  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  di- 
lapidated hovels,  four  humped  oxen  stood,  their  heavy 
harness  still  hanging  upon  them,  though  the  sledges 
they  drew,  covered  with  stone  dust  and  broken  pieces, 
were  some  distance  away  from  them.  A  company 
of  half  a  score  of  children  were  ascending  in  single 
file,  along  a  slanting  plane  of  planks,  into  the  hollow 
in  the  cliff  upon  which  work  had  been  renewed. 
Along  the  rock-wall  ahead  of  them  a  scaffold  had  been 
erected  and  here  were  men  drilling  holes  in  the  stone, 
or  driving  wooden  wedges  into  the  holes  already  made, 
or  pouring  water  on  the  wedges  as  the  skins  the 
children  bore  were  passed  up  to  them. 


102  THE   YOKE 

Kenkenes  picked  his  way  through  the  debris  of 
sticks,  stones,  dust  and  cast-off  water-skins,  and 
serenely  disregarding  the  stare  of  the  laborers,  went 
up  to  the  edge  of  the  stone-pit  and  watched  the  work 
with  interest.  A  constant  stream  of  broken  stone 
rattled  down  under  the  scaffold  and  long  runlets  of 
water  fed  an  ever  increasing  pool  in  the  depression 
before  the  cliff.  A  single  slab  of  irregular  dimensions 
lay  on  the  sand  at  the  base  of  a  wooden  chute,  down 
which  it  had  descended  from  the  hollow  in  the  cliff 
the  evening  before.  The  cavity  it  left  bade  fair  to 
enlarge  by  nightfall,  for  the  swelling  wedges  were 
rending  another  slab  from  its  bedding  with  loud  re- 
ports and  the  sudden  etching  of  fissures.  , 

The  young  sculptor  noted  with  some  wonder  that 
the  laborers  were  Israelites. 

After  a  time  Kenkenes  turned  away  and  addressed 
one  of  the  bearded  men  at  that  moment  ascending 
the  wooden  plane. 

"What  do  ye  here?"  he  asked. 

The  man  answered  in  unready  Egyptian,  but,  for 
an  inferior,  in  a  manner  curiously  collected. 

"The  Pharaoh  addeth  to  the  burden  of  the  chosen 
people.  We  dig  stone  for  a  temple  to  the  war-god." 

"The  chosen  people!"  Kenkenes  repeated  inquir- 
ingly. 

"The  children  of  Israel,"  the  Hebrew  explained. 
Kenkenes  lifted  one  eyebrow  quizzically  and  went  his 
way.  As  he  leaped  up  into  the  gorge  he  vaguely  real- 
ized that  he  had  seen  no  trace  of  an  encampment  near 
the  hamlet,  which  he  knew  to  be  uninhabitable. 

"Of  a  truth,  the  chosen  people  seem  to  follow  me 


ATHOR,   THE    GOLDEN  103 

of  late,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  rambled  up  the  val- 
ley. "Meneptah  must  have  scattered  them  out  of 
Goshen  into  all  the  corners  of  Egypt." 

As  he  turned  the  last  winding  of  the  gorge  he  came 
upon  a  cluster  of  some  threescore  tents,  spread  over 
the  level  pocket  at  the  valley's  end.  Almost  against 
the  northern  wall  the  house  of  the  commander  had  been 
built  to  receive  the  earliest  shadow  of  the  afternoon. 
The  military  standard  was  raised  upon  its  roof  and  a 
scribe,  making  entries  on  a  roll  of  linen,  sat  cross- 
legged  on  a  mat  before  the  door.  In  one  of  the  narrow 
ways  between  the  tents  an  old  woman,  very  bowed 
and  voluminously  clad,  prepared  a  great  hamper  of 
lentils  and  another  of  papyrus  root  for  the  noonday 
meal.  One  or  two  children  sitting  on  the  earth  beside 
her  rendered  her  assistance,  and  a  third  kept  the  turf 
fire  glowing  under  a  huge  bubbling  caldron.  Ken- 
kenes  passed  through  the  camp  by  this  narrow  way 
and  paused  to  look  with  much  curiosity  at  the  ancient 
Israelite.  Never  had  he  seen  any  old  person  so  active 
or  a  slave  so  wrapped  in  covering.  He  hoped  she 
would  lift  her  head  that  he  might  see  her  face;  and 
even  as  he  wished,  she  pierced  him  with  a  look  which, 
from  her  midnight  eyes,  seemed  like  lightning  from 
a  thunder-cloud. 

"Gods!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  retreated  up  the  slope 
behind  the  camp.  And  a  moment  later  he  continued 
his  soliloquy  in  a  voice  that  struggled  between  mirth 
and  amazement :  "Have  I  never  seen  an  Israelite  until 
I  beheld  these  twain,  the  Lady  Miriam  and  that  bent 
dart  of  lightning  in  the  valley?  If  these  be  Israelites 
I  never  saw  one  before.     If  those  cowed  shepherds 


104  THE   YOKE 

that  have  strayed  now  and  again  out  of  Goshen  be 
Hebrews,  then  these  are  not.  And  the  gods  shield  me 
from  the  disfavor  of  them,  be  they  slaves  or  sibyls !" 

When  he  reached  his  block  of  stone  he  unrolled 
his  load  of  equipments  and  set  to  work  without  delay. 
He  was  remote  from  any  possible  interruption  from 
Memphis,  and  the  slaves  in  the  gorge  and  in  the  stone- 
pits  had  no  opportunity  to  come  upon  his  sacrilege  in 
idle  hours.  They  would  be  held  like  prisoners  within 
the  limits  of  the  quarries.  His  sense  of  security  had 
been  strengthened  by  the  renewed  activities  in  Masaa- 
rah. 

With  a  shovel  of  tamarisk  he  cleared  the  slab  of  its 
drift  of  sand.  He  found  that  the  block  broadened  at 
the  base  and  was  separate  from  the  sheet  of  rock  on 
which  it  stood.  Among  his  supplies  was  a  roll  of  reed 
matting,  and  with  this  cut  into  proper  lengths,  he 
carpeted  a  considerable  space  about  the  block.  Pre- 
caution rather  than  luxury  had  prompted  this  pro- 
cedure, since  the  chipped  stone  falling  on  the  covering 
could  be  carried  cleanly  and  at  once  from  the  spot. 

Pausing  long  enough  to  eat  a  thin  slice  of  white 
bread  and  gazelle-meat,  and  to  drink  a  draft  from 
the  porous  and  ever  cooling  water  bottle,  he  turned  to 
the  protection  and  concealment  of  his  statue. 

The  place  was  strewn  with  tolerably  regular  frag- 
ments, and  the  building  of  a  segment  of  wall  to  the 
north  at  the  edge  of  the  matting  required  more  time 
than  strength  or  skill.  He  built  solidly  against  the  pen- 
etrative sand,  and  as  high  as  his  head.  The  early  after- 
noon blazed  upon  him  and  passed  into  the  mellower 
hours  of  the  later  day  before  he  had  finished.  He  hid 
his  shovel  and  two  cylindrical  billets  of  wood,  such  as 


ATHOR,    THE    GOLDEN  105 

were  used  to  roll  great  weights,  under  the  edge  of  his 
reed  carpet,  and  his  preparations  were  complete.  He 
wiped  his  brow,  congratulating  himself  on  the  snug- 
ness  of  his  retreat  and  the  auspicious  beginning  of  his 
transgression. 

Weary  and  happy,  he  rowed  himself  back  to  Mem- 
phis and  slept  soundly  on  the  eve  of  a  great  offense 
against  the  laws  of  Egypt. 

But  the  next  day,  when  the  young  sculptor  faced  the 
moment  of  actual  creation,  he  realized  that  his  goddess 
must  take  form  from  an  unembodied  idea.  The  ritual 
had  been  his  guide  before,  and  his  genius,  set  free  to 
soar  as  it  would,  fluttered  wildly  without  direction. 
His  visions  were  troubled  wfth  glamours  of  the  old 
conventional  forms ;  his  idea  tantalized  him  with 
glimpses  of  its  perfect  self  too  fleeting  for  him  to 
grasp.  The  sensation  was  not  new  to  him.  During 
his  maturer  years  he  had  tried  to  remember  his 
mother's  face  with  the  same  yearning  and  heart-hurt- 
ing disappointment.  But  this  time  he  groped  after 
attributes  which  should  shape  the  features — he  had 
spirit,  not  form,  in  mind ;  and  the  odds  against  which 
his  unguided  genius  must  battle  were  too  heroic  for 
it  to  succeed  without  aid.  The  young  sculptor  real- 
ized that  he  was  in  need  of  a  model.  Stoically,  he  ad- 
mitted that  such  a  thing  was  as  impossible  as  it  was 
indispensable.  It  seemed  that  he  had  met  complete 
bafflement. 

He  took  up  his  tools  and  returned  to  Memphis.  But 
each  succeeding  morning  found  him  in  the  desert 
again,  desperately  hopeful — each  succeeding  evening, 
in  the  city  disheartened  and  silent. 

So  it  followed  for  several  days. 


106  THE   YOKE 

On  the  sixth  of  January  the  festival  in  honor  of  the 
return  of  Isis  from  Phenicia  was  celebrated  in  Mem- 
phis. Kenkenes  left  the  revel  in  mid-afternoon  and 
crossed  the  Nile  to  the  hills.  He  found  no  content 
away  from  his  block  of  stone — no  happiness  before  it. 
But  he  wandered  back  to  the  seclusion  of  the  niche 
that  he  might  be  moody  and  sad  of  eye  in  all  security. 

The  stone-pits  were  deserted.  The  festivities  in 
Memphis  had  extended  their  holiday  to  the  dreary 
camp  at  Masaarah.  Kenkenes  climbed  up  to  his  re- 
treat and  remained  there  only  a  little  time.  The  un- 
hewn rock  mocked  him. 

He  descended  through  the  gorge  and  found  that  the 
Hebrews  were  but  nominally  idle.  A  rope-walk  had 
been  constructed  and  the  men  were  twisting  cables  of 
tough  fiber.  The  Egyptians  lounged  in  the  long 
shadows  of  the  late  afternoon  and  directed  the  work 
with  no  effort  and  little  concern.  The  young  sculptor 
overlooked  the  scene  as  long  as  it  interested  him  and 
continued  down  the  valley  toward  the  Nile. 

Presently  a  little  company  of  Hebrew  children  ap- 
proached, their  bare  feet  making  velvety  sounds  in  the 
silence  of  the  ravine.  Each  balanced  a  skin  of  water 
on  his  head.  The  little  line  obsequiously  curved  out- 
ward to  let  the  nobleman  pass,  and  one  by  one  the 
sturdy  children  turned  their  luminous  eyes  up  to  him, 
some  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  some  with  a  down- 
ward dip  of  a  bashful  head.  One  of  them  disengaged 
a  hand  from  his  burden  and  swept  a  tangle  of  moist 
black  curls  away  from  his  eyes.  The  sun  of  the  desert 
had  not  penetrated  that  pretty  thatch  and  the  fore- 
head was  as  fair  as  a  lotus  flower. 

Kenkenes  caught  himself  looking  sharply  at  each 


ATHOR,   THE   GOLDEN  107 

face  as  he  passed,  for  it  contained  somewhat  of  that 
for  which  he  sought.  As  he  walked  along  looking  after 
them  he  became  aware  that  some  one  was  near  him. 
He  turned  his  head  and  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

He  confronted  his  idea  embodied — Athor,  the 
Golden ! 

It  was  an  Israelitish  maiden,  barely  sixteen  years 
old,  but  in  all  his  life  he  had  never  looked  upon  such 
beauty.  He  had  gazed  with  pleased  eyes  on  the  slender 
blush-tinted  throats  and  wrists  of  the  Egyptian  beau- 
ties, but  never  had  he  beheld  such  whiteness  of  flesh 
as  this.  He  had  sunk  himself  in  the  depths  of  the 
dusky,  amorous  eyes  of  high-born  women  of  Memphis, 
but  here  were  fathomless  profundities  of  azure  that 
abashed  the  heavens.  He  had  been  very  near  to  love- 
liest hair  of  Egypt,  so  close  that  its  odorous  filaments 
had  blown  across  his  face  and  his  artist  senses  had 
been  caught  and  tangled  in  its  ebon  sorcery.  But  down 
each  side  this  broad  brow  was  a  rippling  wave  of 
gold,  over  each  shoulder  a  heavy  braid  of  gold  that 
fell,  straightened  by  its  own  weight,  a  span  below  the 
waist.  The  winds  of  the  desert  had  roughened  it  and 
the  bright  threads  made  a  nimbus  about  the  head. 
Its  glory  overreached  his  senses  and  besieged  his  soul. 
Here  was  not  witchery,  but  exaltation. 

Enraptured  with  her  beauty,  her  perfect  fulfilment 
of  his  needs,  he  realized  last  the  unlovely  features  of 
her  presence.  She  balanced  a  heavy  water  pitcher  on 
her  head  and  wore  a  rough  surplice,  more  decorous 
than  the  dress  of  the  average  bondwoman,  but  the 
habit  of  a  slave,  nevertheless.  He  had  halted  directly 
in  her  path,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitancy  she  passed 
around  him  and  went  on. 


108  THE   YOKE 

Immediately  Kenkenes  recovered  himself  and  with 
a  few  steps  overtook  her.  Without  ceremony  he  trans- 
ferred the  heavy  pitcher  to  his  own  shoulder.  The 
girl  turned  her  perfect  face,  full  of  amazement,  to  him, 
and  a  wave  of  color  dyed  it  swiftly. 

"Thy  burden  is  heavy,  maiden,"  was  all  he  said. 

The  bulk  of  the  jar  on  the  farther  shoulder  made  it 
necessary  for  him  to  turn  his  face  toward  her,  but  she 
was  uneasy  under  the  intent  gaze  of  his  level  black 
eyes.  She  dropped  behind  him,  but  he  slackened  his 
pace  and  kept  beside  her.  For  the  moment  he  was  no 
longer  the  man  of  pulse  and  susceptibility  but  the  ar- 
tist. Therefore  her  thoughts  and  sensations  were 
apart  from  his  concern.  The  unfamiliar  perfection  of 
the  Semitic  countenance  bewildered  him.  He  took  up 
his  panegyric.  Never  was  a  mortal  countenance  so 
near  divine.  And  the  sumptuousness  of  her  figure — 
its  faultless  curves  and  lines,  its  lissome  roundness,  its 
young  grace,  the  beauty  of  arm  and  neck  and  ankle! 
Ah !  never  did  anything  entirely  earthly  dwell  in  so 
fair,  so  splendid  a  form. 

As  they  neared  the  camp  the  girl  spoke  to  him  for 
the  first  time.  He  recognized  in  her  voice  the  same 
serene  tone  he  had  noted  in  his  talk  with  the  Hebrew 
some  days  before. 

"Give  me  my  burden  now,"  she  said.  "Thou  hast 
affronted  thy  rank  for  me,  and  I  thank  thee  many 
times." 

The  sculptor  paused  and  for  a  moment  stood  em- 
barrassed. It  went  sorely  against  his  gallantry  to  lay 
the  burden  again  upon  her  and  he  said  as  much. 

"Nay,   Egypt  has  no  qualms  against  loading  the 


ATHOR,    THE    GOLDEN  109 

Hebrew,"  she  said  quietly.  "Wouldst  thou  put  thy  na- 
tion to  shame?" 

Kenkenes  opened  his  eyes  in  some  astonishment. 

"Now  am  I  even  more  loath,"  he  declared.  "What 
art  thou  called  ?" 

"Rachel." 

"It  hath  an  intrepid  sound,  but  Athor  would  be- 
come thee  better.  Now  I  am  a  sculptor  from  the  city, 
come  to  study  thy  women  for  a  frieze,"  he  continued 
unblushingly,  "and  I  would  go  no  farther  in  my  search. 
Rachel  repeated  will  be  beauty  multiplied.  Let  me 
see  thee  once  in  a  while, — to-morrow." 

A  sudden  flush  swept  over  her  face  and  her  eyes 
darkened. 

"It  shall  not  keep  thee  from  thy  labor,"  he  added 
persuasively. 

The  color  deepened  and  she  made  a  motion  of  dis- 
sent. 

"Nay!  thou  dost  not  refuse  me!"  he  exclaimed,  his 
astonishment  evident  in  his  voice. 

"Of  a  surety,"  she  replied.  "Give  me  my  burden,  I 
pray  thee." 

Dumb  with  amazement,  too  genuine  to  contain  any 
anger,  Kenkenes  obeyed.  As  she  went  up  the  shady 
gorge,  walking  unsteadily  under  the  heavy  pitcher,  he 
stood  looking  after  her  in  eloquent  silence. 

And  in  eloquent  silence  he  turned  at  last  and  con- 
tinued down  the  valley.  There  was  nothing  to  be  said. 
His  appreciation  of  his  own  discomfiture  was  too  large 
for  any  expression. 

In  a  few  steps  he  met  the  short  captain  who  gov- 
erned the  quarries.     Kenkenes  guessed  his  office  by 


no  THE   YOKE 

his  dress.  He  was  adorned  in  festal  trappings,  for  he 
had  spent  most  of  the  day.  in  revel  across  the  Nile. 

"Dost  thou  know  Rachel,  the  Israelitish  maiden?" 
Kenkenes  asked,  planting  himself  in  the  man's  way. 

"The  yellow-haired  Judahite?"  the  man  inquired,  a 
little  surprised. 

"Even  so,"  was  the  reply. 

The  soldier  nodded. 

"Look  to  it  that  she  is  put  to  light  labor,"  the  sculp- 
tor continued,  gazing  loftily  down  into  the  narrow  eyes. 
The  soldier  squared  off  and  inspected  the  nobleman. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  acknowledge  the  young 
sculptor's  right  to  command. 

rtIt  does  not  pay  to  be  tender  with  an  Israelite,"  the 
man  answered  sourly. 

Kenkenes  thrust  his  hand  into  the  folds  of  his  tunic 
over  his  breast  and,  drawing  forth  a  number  of  golden 
rings  strung  on  a  cord,  jingled  them  musically. 

The  soldier  grinned. 

"That  will  coax  a  man  out  of  his  dearest  preju- 
dice.   I  will  put  her  over  the  children." 

Kenkenes  dropped  the  money  into  the  man's  palm. 

"I  shall  have  an  eye  to  thee,"  he  said  warningly. 
"Cheat  me  not." 

He  went  his  way.  The  incident  restored  to  him  the 
power  of  speech. 

"Now,  by  Horus,"  he  began,  "am  I  to  be  denied  by 
an  Israelite  that  which  the  favoring  Hathors  designed 
I  should  have?  Not  while  the  arts  of  strategy  abide 
within  me.  The  children,  I  take  it,  will  come  here  with 
the  water,"  he  cogitated,  stamping  upon  the  wet  and 
deserted  ledge  which  he  had  reached,  "and  here  will 
she  be,  also." 


ATHOR,    THE   GOLDEN  in 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ragged  line  of  rocks  top- 
ping the  northern  wall  of  the  gorge. 

"I  shall  perch  myself  there  like  a  sacred  hawk  and 
filch  her  likeness.  Nay,  now  that  I  come  to  ponder  on 
it,  it  is  doubtless  better  that  she  know  naught  about  it. 
She  might  drop  certain  things  to  the  Egyptians  here- 
about that  would  lead  to  mine  undoing.  The  gods  are 
with  me,  of  a  truth." 

He  descended  into  the  larger  valley  and  went  sing- 
ing toward  the  Nile. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   PUNISHMENT  OF  ATSU 

One  late  afternoon,  in  the  streets  of  Pa-Ramesu,  a 
curious  new-comer  bowed  before  Atsu,  the  commander 
of  Israel  of  the  treasure  city.  The  visitor  was  old 
and  tremulous  from  fatigue,  and  the  stains  of  hard 
travel  were  evident  upon  him. 

"Greeting,  Atsu.  The  peace  of  the  divine  Mother 
attend  thee,"  he  said.  "Snofru,  the  beloved  of  Ra  at 
On,  sends  thee  greeting  by  his  servant,  Ranas." 

"Greeting,"  the  taskmaster  replied,  after  he  had  in- 
spected the  white-browed  servant.  "The  shelter  of  my 
roof  and  the  bread  of  my  board  are  thine;"  adding 
after  a  little  pause,  "and  in  truth  thou  seemest  to  need 
these  things." 

The  old  man  smiled  an  odd  wry  smile  and  followed 
lamely  after  the  long  swinging  stride  of  the  comman- 
der toward  the  headquarters  on  the  knoll. 

Within  the  house  of  Atsu,  Ranas  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  the  soldier  the  message  that  Kenkenes  had 
brought  to  Snofru.  While  Atsu  undid  the  roll  the  old 
servant  made  voluble  apologies  for  the  broken  seal. 
The  commander  stepped  to  the  doorway  for  better 
light  and  read  the  writing. 

The  old  servant  back  in  the  dusk  of  the  interior  saw 
the  stern  face  harden,  the  heavy  brows  knit  blackly, 
the  dusky  red  fade  from  the  cheek.    Ranas  knew  what 

112 


THE    PUNISHMENT   OF   ATSU         113 

the  soldier  read,  for  he  had  had  the  roll  with  its  broken 
seal,  from  On  to  Memphis  and  from  Memphis  back 
to  On  again.  But  with  all  his  astuteness  he  could  not 
have  guessed  what  extremes  of  wrath  and  grief  the 
insulted  taskmaster  suffered.  The  sheet  rolled  itself 
together  again  and  was  broken  and  crushed  in  the  iron 
fingers  that  gripped  it.  Presently  he  tossed  it  aside. 
Hardly  had  it  left  his  hand  before  he  hastened  to  pick 
it  up,  straightened  it  out  and  re-read  it  feverishly.  He 
forgot  the  old  servant;  but  had  he  remembered  the 
man's  curious  gaze,  no  resolution  could  have  hidden 
that  joy  which  slowly  wrote  itself  upon  his  face. 
There  was  balm  in  the  barb  for  all  the  wound  it  made. 
This  is  what  he  read: 

"To  Atsu,  Commander  over  the  Builders  of  Pa- 
Ramesu,  These:  To  mine  ears  hath  come  report  of 
mutiny  and  idleness  through  thy  weak  government  of 
my  bond-people.  Also  that  thou  hast  enforced  my 
commands  but  feebly,  and  so  defeated  my  purposes, 
which  were  my  sire's,  after  whose  illustrious  example 
I  reign. 

"For  these  and  kindred  inefficiencies  art  thou  re- 
moved from  the  government  over  Pa-Ramesu. 

"I  hereby  bestow  upon  thee  another  office  within  the 
limits  of  thy  capacity.  Thou  wilt  take  up  the  flagellum 
over  Masaarah  when  thou  hast  surrendered  Pa- 
Ramesu  to  thy  successor. 

"By  this  thou  shalt  learn  that  the  Pharaohs  will  Be 
ably  served. 

"Horemheb  of  Bubastis,  thy  successor,  accompanieth 
these. 

"Give  him  honor.  Meneptah." 


114  THE   YOKE 

The  diction  was  manifestly  the  king's.  None  other 
of  high  estate  would  have  inspired  so  spiteful  a  letter. 
But  the  appointment  to  Masaarah  made  Atsu  forget 
the  sting  in  the  second  reading.  To  Masaarah!  To 
Masaarah  and  Rachel !  He  folded  the  broken  sheet 
and  thrust  it  into  his  bosom.  Meeting  the  keen  eye  of 
his  guest,  the  color  rushed  back  to  the  taskmaster's 
face  and  he  summoned  two  attendant  Hebrews  to  wait 
upon  the  old  man  while  he  went  forth  to  gain  compo- 
sure in  the  air. 

After  the  old  man  had  been  fed  and  given  such 
other  comfort  as  the  soldier's  house  afforded,  the  task- 
master returned.  Then  Ranas  shifted  his  position  so 
that  he  might  watch  his  host's  face  most  intelligently, 
and  turned  to  the  real  purpose  of  his  visit. 

"Thou  canst  see,  my  master,  that  if  thy  message 
bore  the  wrapping  for  the  epistle  to  Snofru,  the  mes- 
sage to  the  holy  father  must  have  borne  thy  name. 
Thou  hast  received  no  letter  as  yet  which  was  not 
intended  for  thee?" 

The  question  was  delivered  politely,  but  the  old  man 
thrust  his  curious  face  forward  and  shook  his  head 
with  a  combination  of  interrogation  and  dissent,  which 
was  highly  insincere. 

"I  have  received  naught  which  was  not  intended  for 
me,"  the  taskmaster  replied  warmly. 

After  a  moment's  intent  contemplation  of  Atsu's 
face  the  courier  went  on :  "Nay,  so  had  I  thought. 
The  messenger  came  to  Snofru  with  all  speed  and  out- 
stripped the  courier  bound  for  Pa-Ramesu.  It  is  even 
as  I  had  thought.  He  may  arrive  shortly,  but  I  must 
tarry  till  he  comes." 

Atsu  assented  bluntly,  and  after  that  if  they  talked 


THE    PUNISHMENT   OF   ATSU         115 

it  was  of  impersonal  things  and  in  a  desultory  manner. 
When  night  came  Atsu  called  his  attendants  and  had 
the  weary  old  man  put  to  bed  in  a  curtained  corner  of 
the  house.    For  himself  there  was  no  sleep. 

At  midnight  there  came  the  beat  of  hoofs  on  the 
dust-muffled  ways  of  Pa-Ramesu.  A  sentry  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  commander  and  announced  a  visitor. 
Atsu,  who  still  sat  under  the  unextinguished  reed  light, 
greeted  the  new-comer  with  an  exclamation  of  con- 
cern. The  man  was  covered  with  dust,  his  dress  was 
torn  and  bloody,  his  right  hand  swathed  in  cloths, 
and  his  lip,  right  cheek  and  eye  were  swollen  and  dis- 
colored. 

"By  Horus,  friend,  thou  lookest  ill-used,"  the  task- 
master exclaimed.  "What  has  befallen  thee  ?" 

"Naught — naught  of  any  lasting  hurt,"  the  new- 
comer replied  carelessly.  "We  were  set  upon  by  a 
troop  of  murdering  Bedouins  this  side  of  Bubastis 
and  had  a  pretty  fight." 

"Aye,  thou  hast  the  stamp  of  its  beauty  upon  thy 
face.  A  slave,  here,  with  some  balsam,"  Atsu  contin- 
ued, addressing  the  sentry,  "and  a  captain  of  the  con- 
stabulary next.  We  will  cure  these  Bedouins  and 
their  hurt  at  once." 

"Nay,"  the  visitor  protested.  "It  is  only  a  spear- 
slit  in  my  hand,  and  a  flying  stirrup  marred  my  face. 
I  am  well.  Look  to  the  Bedouins,  however ;  they  ran 
our  messenger  through — Set  consume  them!" 

"Doubt  not,  we  shall  look  to  them.  They  grow 
strangely  insolent  of  late." 

"Small  wonder,"  the  other  responded  heartily.  "Is 
not  the  whole  north  a  seething  pot  of  lawlessness ;  and 
by  the  demons  of  Amenti,  is  not  the  Israelite  the  fire 


n6  THE   YOKE 

under  the  caldron?  Nay,  but  I  shall  have  especial 
joy  in  damping  him !" 

The  man  laughed  and  dropped  into  the  chair  Atsu 
had  offered  him. 

"Then  thou  art  Horemheb,  the  new  taskmaster  over 
Pa-Ramesu  ?" 

"So!  has  my  news  outridden  me?"  the  man  ex- 
claimed in  very  evident  amazement. 

Ranas,  indifferently  clad  in  a  hastily  donned  kamis, 
at  this  moment  parted  the  curtains  of  his  retreat  and 
came  forth  with  an  apologetic  courtesy. 

"And  thy  messenger,  sir?  What  of  him?"  he  asked 
eagerly. 

"Dead,  and  left  at  a  wayside  house." 

"And  the  message?"  the  old  man  persisted. 

Horemheb  surveyed  him  with  increasing  astonish- 
ment. 

"Where  hast  thou  these  tidings?"  he  demanded. 
"They  are  scarce  three  hours  old.  Who  reached  thee 
with  them  before  me  ?" 

Atsu  interposed  and  explained  the  interchange  of 
letters. 

"Oh,"  said  Horemheb.  "So  the  correct  message 
came  to  thee,  nevertheless,  good  Atsu.  But  I  can  not 
tell  thee  aught  of  the  other.    It  is  lost." 

"Lost!"  Ranas  shrieked. 

"Gods !  old  man.  It  was  only  pigment  and  papyrus, 
not  gold  or  jewels.  A  kindly  disposed  Hebrew  came 
to  our  help  with  some  of  his  people,  and  we  put  the 
Bedouins  to  flight.  But  after  the  struggle,  search 
as  we  might  with  torches  which  the  Hebrew  brought, 
the  message  was  not  to  be  found.  A  Bedouin  made 
off  with  it,  I  doubt  not." 


THE   PUNISHMENT   OF   ATSU         117 

Ranas  stood  speechless  for  an  instant,  and  then  he 
rushed  up  to  the  new  taskmaster. 

"His  name  ?"  he  demanded  fiercely.  "The  Hebrew  ! 
What  was  he  like  ?    Where  does  he  dwell  ?" 

"A  murrain  on  the  maniac!"  Horemheb  exploded. 
"He  called  himself  Aaron !" 

Ranas  staggered  against  the  wall  for  support  and 
beat  the  air  with  his  arms. 

"Aaron,  the  brother  of  Mesu!  O  ye  inscrutable 
Hathors !"  he  babbled.  "A  Bedouin  made  off  with 
it!    Oh!    Oh!  What  idiocy!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  COLLAR  OF  GOLD 

The  next  morning  after  his  meeting  with  the  golden- 
haired  Israelite,  Kenkenes  came  early  to  the  line  of 
rocks  that  topped  the  north  wall  of  the  gorge  and,  en- 
sconced between  the  gray  fragments,  looked  down  un- 
seen on  her  whenever  she  came  to  the  valley's  mouth. 
All  day  long  the  children  came  staggering  up  from  the 
Nile,  laden  with  dripping  hides,  or  returned  in  a  free 
and  ragged  line  down  the  green  slope  of  the  field  to 
the  river  again. 

Vastly  more  simple  and  time-saving  would  have 
been  one  of  the  capacious  water  carts.  But  what 
would  have  employed  these  ten  youthful  Hebrews  in 
the  event  of  such  improvement?  There  was  to  be  no 
labor-saving  in  the  quarries.  Therefore,  through  the 
dust,  up  the  weary  slanting  plane,  again  and  again 
till  the  day's  work  amounted  to  a  journey  of  miles,  the 
Hebrew  children  toiled  with  their  captain  and  co- 
laborer,  Rachel. 

At  the  summit  of  the  wooden  slope  the  beautiful 
Israelite,  who  had  preceded  her  charges,  passed  up  the 
burden  of  each  one  to  the  Hebrews  on  the  scaffold. 
From  his  aery  Kenkenes  watched  this  particular  phase 
of  her  tasks  with  interest.  She  was  not  too  far  from 
him  for  the  details  of  her  movements  to  be  distinguish- 

118 


THE   COLLAR   OF   GOLD  119 

able,  and  the  posture  of  the  outstretched  arms  and 
lifted  face  fulfilled  his  requirements.  He  abandoned 
the  modeling  of  her  features  for  that  day  and  copied 
the  attitude.  Once  in  the  morning  and  once  in  the 
afternoon  a  countryman  of  hers,  strong,  young  and 
but  lightly  bearded,  stepped  down  from  his  place  on 
the  scaffold  and  relieved  her.  The  sculptor  noted  the 
act  with  some  degree  of  disquiet,  hoping  that  the 
graceful  protests  of  the  girl  might  prevail.  When  the 
stalwart  Hebrew  overrode  her  remonstrances,  and  mo- 
tioned her  toward  a  place  at  the  side  of  the  frame-work 
where  she  might  rest,  the  young  sculptor  frowned  im- 
patiently. But  his  humane  heart  chid  him  and  he 
waited  with  some  assumption  of  grace  till  she  should 
take  up  her  burden  again. 

At  sunset  he  retired  cautiously,  but  several  dawns 
found  him  among  the  rocks,  with  reed  pen,  papyri 
and  molds  of  clay.  When  he  climbed  to  his  retreat 
within  the  walls  of  stone,  on  the  hillside  in  the  late 
afternoon,  he  hid  several  studies  of  the  girl's  head  and 
statuettes  of  clay  under  the  matting. 

At  last  he  began  the  creation  of  Athor  the  Golden. 

For  days  he  labored  feverishly,  forgetting  to  eat, 
fretting  because  the  sun  set  and  the  darkness  held  sway 
for  so  long.  Having  overstepped  the  law,  he  placed 
no  limit  to  the  extent  of  his  artistic  transgression. 

After  choosing  nature  as  his  model,  he  followed  it 
slavishly.  On  the  occasion  of  his  initial  departure 
from  the  accepted  rules,  he  had  never  dreamed  it  pos- 
sible to  disregard  ritualistic  commandments  so  abso- 
lutely. He  even  ignored  the  passive  and  medita- 
tive repose,  immemorial  on  the  carven  countenances  of 
Egypt. 


120  THE   YOKE 

The  face  of  Athor,  as  she  put  forth  her  arms  to  re- 
ceive the  sun,  must  show  love,  submission,  eagerness 
and  great  appeal. 

As  Kenkenes  said  this  thing  to  himself,  he  lowered 
chisel  and  mallet  and  paused.  Posture  and  form  would 
avail  nothing  without  these  emotions  written  on  the 
face.  He  began  to  wonder  if  he  might  carve  them, 
unaided.  He  had  not  found  them  in  the  Israelite,  and 
he  confessed  to  himself,  with  a  little  laugh,  a  doubt 
that  he  should  ever  see  them  on  her  countenance. 

Then  a  vagabond  impulse  presented  itself  unbidden 
in  his  mind  and  was  frowned  down  with  a  blush  of 
apology  to  himself.  And  yet  he  remembered  his  co- 
quetry with  the  Lady  Ta-meri  as  some  small  defense 
in  the  form  of  precedent. 

"Nay,"  he  replied  to  this  evidence,  "it  is  a  different 
woman.  Between  myself  and  Ta-meri  it  is  even  odds, 
and  the  vanquished  will  have  deserved  his  defeat." 

That  evening — it  was  several  days  after  the  face  of 
the  goddess  had  begun  to  emerge  from  the  block  of 
stone — he  went  to  the  upper  end  of  the  gorge  and 
passed  through  the  camp  on  his  way  home,  that  he 
might  meet  his  model. 

The  laborers  had  not  returned  from  the  quarries, 
though  the  evening  meal  bubbled  and  fumed  over  the 
fires  in  the  narrow  avenue  between  the  tents.  Ken- 
kenes passed  by  on  the  outskirts  of  the  encampment 
and  went  on. 

Deep  shadow  lay  on  the  stone-pits  when  Kenkenes 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  gorge,  and  a  cool  wind  from 
the  Nile  swept  across  the  grain.  The  day's  work  had 
been  prolonged  in  the  lowering  of  a  huge  slab  from  its 
position  in  its  native  bed.    The  monolith  was  already 


THE   COLLAR  OF   GOLD  121 

on  the  brink  of  the  wooden  incline,  and  every  man  was 
at  the  windlasses  by  which  the  cables  controlling  its 
descent  were  paid  out.  Kenkenes  saw  at  a  glance  that 
none  of  the  water-bearers  was  present,  and  he  knew 
the  lovely  Israelite  was  with  them.   He  did  not  pause. 

Before  the  sound  of  the  quarry  stir  had  been  left 
behind  he  heard  a  sharp  report,  the  frightened  shrieks 
of  women  and  shouts  of  warning.  He  looked  back  in 
time  to  see  the  huge  stone  turn  part  way  round  on  the 
chute  and  rush,  end  first,  earthward.  Expectant  silence 
fell,  broken  only  by  the  vicious  snarl  of  a  flying  wind- 
lass crank.  But  in  an  instant  the  great  slab  struck  the 
earth  with  a  thunderous  sound  that  reverberated  again 
and  again  from  the  barren  hills  about.  A  vast  all- 
enveloping  cloud  of  dust  and  earth  filled  the  hollow 
quarry  like  smoke  from  an  explosion.  But  there  was 
no  further  outcry,  and  through  the  outskirts  of  the  lift- 
ing cloud  men  were  seen  making  deliberate  prepara- 
tions to  repair  the  parted  cable.  Assured  that  no  cal- 
amity had  occurred,  Kenkenes  went  on. 

In  a  few  steps  he  met  the  children  water-bearers 
flying  to  the  scene  of  the  accident.  Not  one  of  them 
bore  a  water-skin.  The  excited  young  Hebrews  did 
not  stop  to  question  the  sculptor,  but  ran  on,  and  were 
swallowed  up  in  dust. 

Half-way  to  the  Nile  he  came  upon  her  whom  he 
sought.  She  was  standing  alone  in  the  midst  of  ten 
sheepskins,  and  the  grain  was  wetted  with  the  spilled 
water.    He  pointed  to  the  discarded  hides  about  her. 

"The  camp  will  go  thirsty  if  the  runaways  do  not 
return,"  he  said.  "Thy  burden  is  too  heavy  for  even 
me  to-night." 

"They  will  return,"  she  answered. 


122  THE   YOKE 

"Aye,  it  was  naught  but  a  parting  cable  and  a  falling 
rock.  I  was  near  and  saw  no  evidence  of  disaster. 
Had  the  children  asked  me,  I  should  have  told  them  as 
much." 

"They  will  return,"  she  repeated,  and  Kenkenes  fan- 
cied that  there  was  a  dismissal  in  this  quiet  repetition. 
But  he  did  not  mean  to  see  it.  He  went  on,  with  a 
smile. 

"I  am  glad  they  did  not  stop,  for  I  wanted  to  see 
thee,  with  that  frightened  longing  of  a  man  who  hath 
resolved  on  confession  and  meeteth  his  confessor  on 
a  sudden.  Now  that  the  moment  hath  arrived  I  mar- 
vel how  I  shall  make  my  peace  with  Athor,  whose 
command  I  most  deliberately  broke." 

She  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  his  face  and  waited 
for  him  to  proceed.  The  pose  of  the  head  was  exactly 
what  he  wanted.  Rapidly  he  compared  every  detail  of 
her  face  with  his  memory  of  the  statue  of  Athor,  not- 
ing with  satisfaction  that  his  studies  had  been  happily 
faithful.  His  scrutiny  was  so  swift  and  skilful  that 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  unusual  in  his  gaze. 

"I  am  culpable  but  impenitent,"  he  continued.  "I 
shall  not  forswear  mine  offense.  Neither  is  there  any 
need  of  a  plea  to  justify  myself,  for  my  very  sin  is  its 
own  justification.  Behold  me !  I  perched  myself  like 
a  sacred  hawk  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley  and  filched 
thy  likeness.  Do  with  me  as  thou  wilt,  but  I  shall  die 
reiterating  approval  of  my  deed." 

His  extravagant  speech  wrought  an  interesting 
change  on  the  face  before  him.  There  was  a  pro- 
nounced curve  of  her  mouth,  a  slight  tension  in  the 
chiseled  nostril — in  fact,  an  indefinable  disdain  that 
had  not  been  there  before.     It  would  become  Athor 


THE   COLLAR   OF   GOLD  123 

well.  Kenkenes  understood  the  look  but  he  did  not 
flinch.  Instead  he  let  his  head  drop  slowly  until  he 
looked  at  her  from  under  his  brows.  Then  he  sum- 
moned into  his  eyes  all  the  wounded  feeling,  pathos, 
soft  reproach  and  appeal,  of  which  his  graceless  young 
heart  was  capable,  and  gazed  at  her. 

Khufu  might  have  been  as  easily  melted  by  the  twin- 
kle of  a  rain  drop.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  faced  such 
comprehensive  contemplation.  Calm,  monumental  and 
icy  disdain  deepened  on  every  feature. 

Kenkenes  stood  motionless  and  suffered  her  to  look 
at  him.  Being  a  man  of  fine  soul,  the  eloquent  gaze 
spoke  well-deserved  rebuke.  He  knew  that  his  color 
had  risen,  and  his  eyes  fell  in  spite  of  heroic  efforts 
to  keep  them  steady.  His  sensations  were  unique ; 
never  had  he  experienced  the  like.  When  he  recovered 
himself  her  blue  eyes  were  fixed  absently  on  the  dis- 
tant quarries. 

Every  impulse  urged  him  to  set  himself  right  in  the 
eyes  of  this  most  discerning  slave. 

"Wilt  thou  forgive  me?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "I 
would  I  could  make  thee  know  I  crave  thy  good  will." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  honesty  in  these  words. 
Her  face  relaxed  instantly. 

"But  I  fear  I  have  not  set  about  it  wisely,"  he  added. 
"Let  me  give  thee  a  peace-offering  to  prove  my  con- 
trition." 

He  slipped  from  about  his  neck  the  collar  of  golden 
rings  and  moved  forward  to  put  it  about  her  throat. 

She  drew  back,  her  face  flushing  hotly  under  an  ex- 
pression of  positive  pain. 

Kenkenes  dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides  with  a 
limpness  highly   suggestive  of  desperate  perplexitv. 


124  THE   YOKE 

Was  not  this  a  slave?  And  yet  here  was  the  fine  feel- 
ing of  a  princess.  He  stood,  for  once  in  his  life,  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  He  could  not  depart  without  the 
greatest  awkwardness,  and  yet,  if  he  lingered,  he  sacri- 
ficed his  comfort.    Presently  he  exclaimed  helplessly: 

"Rachel,  do  thou  tell  me  what  to  say  or  do.  It  seems 
that  I  but  sink  myself  the  deeper  in  the  quicksand  of 
thy  disapproval  at  every  struggle  to  escape.  Do 
thou  lead  me  out." 

He  had  met  a  slave,  justed  with  an  equal  and  flung 
up  his  hands  in  surrender  to  his  better.  He  did  not 
confess  this  to  himself,  but  his  words  were  admission 
enough.  Never  would  his  high-born  spirit  have  per- 
mitted him  to  make  such  a  declaration  to  one  slavish 
in  soul. 

The  straightforward  acknowledgment  of  defeat  and 
the  genuine  concern  in  his  voice  were  irresistible.  She 
answered  him  at  once,  distantly  and  calmly. 

"Thou,  as  an  Egyptian,  hast  honored  me,  a  Hebrew, 
with  thy  notice.    I  have  deserved  neither  gift  nor  fee." 

"Nay,  but  let  us  put  it  differently,"  he  replied.  "I, 
as  a  man,  have  given  thee,  a  maiden,  offense,  and  hav- 
ing repented,  would  appease  thee  with  a  peace-offer- 
ing. Believe  me,  I  do  not  jest.  By  the  gentle  god- 
desses, I  fear  to  speak,"  he  added  breathlessly. 

The  Israelite's  blue  eyes  were  veiled  quickly,  but  the 
Egyptian  guessed  aright  that  she  had  hidden  a  smile 
in  them. 

"Am  I  forgiven  ?"  he  persisted. 

"So  thou  wilt  offend  no  further,"  she  said  without 
raising  her  eyes. 

"I  promise.  And  now,  since  the  goddess  hath  re- 
fused mine  offering,  I  may  not  take  it  back.    What 


THE    COLLAR   OF    GOLD  125 

shall  I  do  with  this?"  he  asked,  holding  up  the  collar 
of  gold. 

"Put  it  about  thy  statue's  neck,"  she  said  softly. 

Kenkenes  gasped  and  retreated  a  step.  Instantly 
she  was  imploring  his  pardon. 

"It  was  a  forward  spirit  in  me  that  made  me  say  it. 
I  pray  thee,  forgive  me." 

"Thou  hast  given  no  offense,  but  how  dost  thou 
know  of  this — tell  me  that." 

"I  came  upon  it  by  accident  three  days  ago.  Several 
of  the  children  had  gone  fowling  for  the  taskmaster's 
meal,  and  were  so  long  absent  that  I  was  sent  to  look 
for  them.  The  path  down  the  valley  is  old,  and  I  have 
followed  it  with  the  idea  of  labor  ever  in  my  mind. 
And  this  was  a  moment  of  freedom,  so  I  thought  to 
spend  it  where  I  had  not  been  a  slave.  I  went  across 
the  hills,  and,  being  unfamiliar  with  them,  lost  my 
way.  When  I  climbed  upon  one  of  the  great  rocks  to 
overlook  the  labyrinth,  lo!  at  my  feet  was  the  statue. 
I  knew  myself  the  moment  I  looked,  and  it  was  not 
hard  to  guess  whose  work  it  was." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him  with  appeal  on  her 
face. 

"Thou  hast  told  no  one?" 

"Nay,"  was  the  quick  and  earnest  answer. 

"Thou  hast  caught  me  in  a  falsehood,"  he  said. 

The  statement  was  almost  brutal  in  its  directness. 
But  the  question  that  came  back  swiftly  was  not  less 
pointed. 

"There  was  no  frieze  of  bondmaidens — naught  of 
anything  thou  hast  told  me  ?" 

"Nay,  not  anything.  I  am  carving  a  statue  against 
the  canons  of  the  sculptor's  ritual  for  the  sake  of  my 


126  THE   YOKE 

love  of  beauty.  Until  thou  didst  come  upon  it,  I  alone 
possessed  the  secret.  Thou  knowest  the  punishment 
which  will  overtake  me?" 

"Aye,  I  know  right  well.  Yet  fear  not.  The  statue 
is  right  cunningly  concealed  and  none  will  ever  find  it, 
for  the  children  were  unsuccessful  and  the  meals  for 
the  overseer  will  be  brought  him  from  the  city  here- 
after. And  I  will  not  betray  thee — I  give  thee  my 
word." 

Her  tone  was  soft  and  earnest ;  her  assurances  were 
spoken  so  confidently,  her  interest  was  so  genuine,  that 
a  queer  and  unaccountable  satisfaction  possessed  the 
young  artist  at  once. 

At  this  moment  the  runaway  water-bearers  came  in 
sight  and  in  obedience  to  very  evident  dismissal  in  the 
Israelite's  eyes,  Kenkenes  bade  her  farewell  and  left 
her. 

But  he  had  not  gone  two  paces  before  she  overtook 
him. 

"Approach  thy  work  from  various  directions/'  she 
cautioned,  "else  thou  wilt  wear  a  path  which  may  spy 
on  thee  one  day." 

The  moment  the  words  passed  her  lips,  Kenkenes, 
who  still  held  the  collar,  put  it  about  her  neck,  passing 
his  hands  under  the  thick  plaits,  and  snapped  the  clasp 
accurately. 

The  act  was  done  instantly,  and  with  but  a  single 
movement.  He  was  gone,  laughing  on  his  way,  be- 
fore she  had  realized  what  he  had  done. 

There  was  revel  in  the  young  man's  veins  that 
evening,  but  the  great  house  of  his  father  was  silent 
and  lonely.  If  he  would  find  a  companion  he  must 
leave  its  heavy  walls.    His  resolution  was  not  long  in 


THE   COLLAR   OF    GOLD  127 

making  nor  his  instinct  slow  in  directing  him.  An  hour 
after  the  evening  meal,  when  he  entered  the  chariot 
that  waited,  he  had  laid  aside  the  simple  tunic,  and  in 
festal  attire  was,  every  inch  of  his  many  inches,  the  son 
of  the  king's  favorite  artist.  His  charioteer  drove  in 
the  direction  of  the  nomarch's  house. 

The  portress  conducted  him  into  the  faintly  lighted 
chamber  of  guests  and  went  forth  silently.  Kenkenes 
interpreted  her  behavior  at  once. 

"There  is  another  guest,"  he  thought  with  a  smile, 
"and  I  can  name  him  as  promptly  as  any  chanting 
sorcerer  might."  When  the  serving  woman  returned 
she  bade  him  follow  her  and  led  the  way  to  the  house- 
top. 

There,  under  the  subdued  light  of  a  single  lamp,  was 
the  Lady  Ta-meri ;  at  her  feet,  Nechutes. 

"I  should  wear  the  symbol-broidered  robe  of  a 
soothsayer,"  the  sculptor  told  himself. 

"You  made  a  longer  sojourn  of  your  visit  to  Tape 
than  you  had  intended,"  the  lady  said,  after  the  greet- 
ings. 

"Nay,  I  have  been  in  Memphis  twenty  days  at 
least." 

"So?"  queried  Nechutes.  "Where  dost  thou  keep 
thyself?" 

"In  the  garb  of  labor  among  the  ink-pots  and  papyri 
of  the  sculptor  class,"  the  lady  answered.  "I  warrant 
there  are  pigment  marks  on  his  fingers  even  now." 

Kenkenes  extended  his  long  right  hand  to  her  for 
inspection.  She  received  it  across  her  pink  palm  and 
scrutinized  it  laughingly. 

"Nay,  I  take  it  back.  Here  is  naught  but  henna  and 
a  suspicion  of  attar.    He  has  been  idle  these  days." 


128  THE   YOKE 

"Hast  thou  forgotten  the  efficacy  of  the  lemon  in 
the  removal  of  stains?"  the  sculptor  asked  with  a 
smile. 

The  lady  frowned. 

"Give  us  thy  news  from  Tape,  then,"  she  demanded, 
putting  his  hand  away. 

"The  court  is  coming  to  Memphis  sooner.  That  is 
all.  O,  aye,  I  had  well-nigh  forgot.  There  is  also 
talk  of  a  marriage  between  Rameses  and  Ta-user." 

"Fie!"  the  lady  scoffed.  "Nechutes  hath  more  to 
tell  than  that,  and  he  hath  stayed  in  Memphis." 

"Thou  wilt  come  to  realize  some  day,  Ta-meri,  that 
I  am  fitted  to  the  yoke  of  labor,  when  I  fail  thee  in  all 
the  nicer  walks  thou  wouldst  have  me  tread.  Come, 
out  with  thy  gossip,  Nechutes." 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Hotep  to-day — a  budget  of 
news,  included  with  official  matters  with  which  the 
king  would  acquaint  me.  Ta-user,  with  Amon-meses 
and  Siptah,  hath  joined  the  court  at  Tape — " 

"And  Siptah,  she  brought  with  her — "  the  sculptor 
interrupted  softly. 

Nechutes  cast  an  expressive  look  at  Kenkenes  and 
went  on. 

"And  the  courting  hath  begun." 

Silence  fell,  and  the  lady  looked  at  the  two  young 
men  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"Nay,  but  that  is  interesting,"  Kenkenes  admitted, 
recovering  himself.    "Tell  me  more." 

"The  offices  of  cup-bearer  and  murket  are  to  be  be- 
stowed in  Memphis,"  Nechutes  continued. 

"And  the  one  falls  to  Nechutes,"  the  lady  declared 
triumphantly. 


THE   COLLAR   OF   GOLD  129 

"Of  a  truth  thou  hast  a  downy  lot  before  thee, 
Nechutes,"  the  young  sculptor  said  heartily.  "And 
never  one  so  deserving-  of  it.    I  give  thee  joy." 

"And  the  other  goes  to  the  noble  Mentu,"  Nechutes 
added  in  a  meek  voice. 

"Sphinx !"  Ta-meri  cried,  tapping  him  on  the  head. 
"You  did  not  tell  me  that." 

The  surprised  delight  of  Kenkenes  was  not  so  be- 
wildering as  to  blind  him  to  the  reason  why  Nechutes 
had  withheld  this  news  from  Ta-meri.  The  blunt 
Egyptian  was  not  anxious  to  speed  his  rival's  cause. 

"Does  my  father  know  of  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  doubt  not.  The  same  messenger  that  brought 
me  news  of  mine  own  appointment  departed  for  On 
when  he  learned  that  Mentu  was  there." 

"Nay,  but  that  will  be  wine  in  his  veins,"  Kenkenes 
mused  happily.  "It  will  make  him  young  again.  His 
late  inactivity  hath  chafed  him  sorely." 

"You  have  come  honestly  by  your  labor-loving," 
Nechutes  commented.  "Hotep  adds  further  that 
Mentu  is  the  only  one  of  the  king's  new  ministers  that 
is  no  longer  a  young  man." 

"It  is  Rameses  who  counsels  him,  I  doubt  not,"  the 
sculptor  replied.  "He  hath  great  faith  in  the  powers 
of  youth.  And  behold  what  a  cabinet  he  hath  built  up 
for  his  father.  First,"  Kenkenes  continued,  enumerat- 
ing on  his  fingers,  "there  is  Nechutes — " 

The  new  cup-bearer  waved  his  hand,  and  Kenkenes 
went  on. 

"There  is  my  father,  the  murket.  He  needs  no  fur- 
ther praise  than  the  utterance  of  his  name.  There  is 
Hotep,  on  whose  lips  Toth  abideth.     There  is  Sene- 


i3o  THE   YOKE 

feru,  the  faithful,  whom  the  Rebu  dreads.  Next  is 
Kephren,  the  mohar,*  who  would  outshine  his  father, 
the  right  hand  of  the  great  Rameses,  had  he  but  na- 
tions to  conquer.  After  him,  Har-hat — " 

"Hold !  He  is  not  appointed  of  the  prince.  He  was 
Meneptah's  choice — and  his  alone,"  Nechutes  inter- 
rupted. "It  is  rumored  that  Rameses  is  not  over-fond 
of  him." 

"He  will  be  put  to  it  to  hold  his  high  place  in  the 
face  of  the  prince's  disfavor,"  Kenkenes  cogitated. 

"Nay,  but  he  presses  the  prince  hard  for  general- 
ship. It  must  be  so,  since  he  could  win  the  king's 
good  will  over  the  protest  of  Rameses.  So  I  doubt 
not  he  can  hold  his  own  at  court  by  prudence  and  strat- 

egy." 

Meanwhile  Ta-meri,  in  the  depths  of  her  chair, 
gazed  at  the  pair  resentfully.  They  had  grown  inter- 
ested in  weighty  things  and  had  seemingly  forgotten 
her.  So  she  sighed  and  bethought  her  how  to  punish 
them. 

"What  a  relief  it  will  be  when  the  Pharaoh  returns  to 
Memphis !"  she  murmured  in  the  pause  that  now  fol- 
lowed. "He  will  be  more  welcome  to  me  than  the  Nile 
overflow.  The  city  has  been  a  desert  to  me  since  he 
departed." 

Nechutes  looked  at  her  with  reproach  in  his  eyes. 

"Consider  the  desert,  O  sweet  Oasis,"  Kenkenes 
said  softly.  "Is  not  its  portion  truly  grievous  if  its 
single  palm  complain  ?" 

The  lady  dropped  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks  glowed 


*Mohar — The  king's  pioneer,  an  office  that  might  be  defined 
as  minister  of  war. 


THE   COLLAR   OF   GOLD  131 

even  through  the  dusk.  After  the  long-  interval  of 
Nechutes'  blunt  love-making  the  sculptor's  subtleties 
fell  most  gratefully  on  her  ear. 

Nechutes  scowled,  sighed  and  finally  spoke. 

"Tape  is  afflicted  in  anticipation  of  the  king's  de- 
parture," he  observed  disjointedly. 

"Tape  does  not  love  Meneptah  as  Memphis  loves 
him,"  Kenkenes  answered.  "Hast  thou  not  this  mo- 
ment heard  Memphis  pine  for  him?  Tape  would  not 
have  spoken  thus.  She  would  have  said :  'Would  that 
the  king  were  here  that  I  might  ask  a  boon  of  him.' 
Memphis  is  the  cradle  of  kings;  Tape,  their  tomb. 
Memphis  is  full  of  reverence  for  the  Pharaohs ;  Tape, 
of  pride ;  Memphis  of  loyalty ;  Tape,  of  boon-craving. 
Meneptah  returns  to  the  bosom  of  his  mother  when  he 
returns  to  Memphis." 

"But  he  will  not  remain  here  long,"  Nechutes  went 
on.  "He  goes  to  Tanis  to  be  near  the  scene  of  the 
Israelitish  unrest." 

"Alas,  Ta-meri,  and  wilt  thou  droop  again?"  Ken- 
kenes asked. 

"I  fear,"  she  assented  with  a  little  sigh.  Then,  after 
a  pause,  she  asked:  "Does  the  murket  follow  the 
court?" 

Kenkenes  shook  his  head.  "Not  when  the  Pharaoh 
travels.  But  should  he  depart  permanently  from  Mem- 
phis my  father  would  go.  Many  of  the  court  return- 
ing hither  will  not  proceed  to  Tanis.  The  city  will 
not  be  so  desolate  then  as  now." 

"Nay,  but  I  am  glad,"  she  said.  "Those  who  re- 
main will  suffice." 

"Of  a  truth?"  Nechutes  demanded  angrily. 

"Have  I  not  said  ?"  she  replied. 


132  THE   YOKE 

Nechutes  rose  slowly  and  made  his  way  to  a  chair 
some  distance  away  from  her.  Kenkenes  immediately 
guessed  why  the  cup-bearer  was  hurt,  but  the  lady  was 
innocent.  He  knew  that  he  had  but  to  speak  to  restore 
Nechutes  to  favor. 

Meanwhile  the  lady,  amazed  and  deeply  offended  at 
the  desertion  of  the  cup-bearer,  had  turned  her  back  on 
him.    Kenkenes  arose. 

Ta-meri  sat  up  in  alarm. 

"O,  do  not  go.  You  have  but  this  moment  come," 
she  said. 

"Already  have  I  stayed  too  long,"  he  replied.  "But 
thy  hospitality  makes  one  forget  the  debt  one  owes  to 
a  prior  guest." 

She  looked  at  him  from  under  silken  lashes. 

"Nechutes  has  misconducted  himself,"  she  objected, 
"and  I  would  not  be  left  alone  with  him." 

"Wouldst  thou  have  me  stay  and  see  him  restored 
to  favor  under  my  very  eyes?  Ah,  Ta-meri,  where  is 
thy  womanly  compassion?" 

She  smiled  and  extended  her  hand.  Kenkenes  took 
it  and  felt  it  relax  and  lie  willingly  in  his  palm. 

"Nay,  do  not  go,"  she  pleaded  softly. 

"Give  me  leave  to  come  again  instead." 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  half  questioning,  half  com- 
manding. He  did  not  promise,  but  as  he  bent  over  to 
kiss  her  hand,  he  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"Hast  thou  forgotten  that  Nechutes  leaves  Memphis 
with  the  going  of  the  king?" 

The  lady  started  and  flung  a  conscience-stricken 
glance  at  the  scowling  cup-bearer.  And  while  her  face 
was  turned,  Kenkenes  departed  like  a  shadow.  But 
the  portals  of  the  nomarch's  house  had  hardly  closed 


THE   COLLAR   OF   GOLD  133 

behind  him  before  he  demanded  of  himself,  impatient- 
ly, why  he  had  made  Nechutes'  peace,  why  he  kept  the 
cup-bearer  for  ever  between  himself  and  Ta-meri.  And 
as  if  to  evade  this  catechism  something  arose  in  him 
and  asked  him  why  he  should  not. 
And  to  this  he  could  give  no  answer. 


CHAPTER  X 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL 


For  an  instant  after  the  sculptor  had  put  the  collar 
about  her  throat,  Rachel  stood  motionless,  her  face 
flushing  and  whitening  with  conflicting  emotions. 

But  her  indecision  was  only  momentary.  Rebellion 
was  in  the  ascendant. 

She  thrust  her  fingers  under  the  band  and  essayed 
to  wrench  oft"  the  offending  necklace,  but  the  stout 
fastening  held  and  the  flexible  braid  printed  its  woof 
on  the  back  of  the  soft  neck.  Almost  in  tears  she  un- 
did the  clasp  and  flung  the  collar  away. 

It  struck  the  earth  with  a  musical  ring,  and  the 
green  of  the  wheat  hid  all  but  a  faint  ray  of  the  red 
metal. 

The  rout  of  children  descended  on  her,  each  clam- 
oring a  story  of  the  accident.  But  without  a  word 
she  marshaled  them  and  turned  once  again  toward 
the  river  to  refill  the  hides.  At  the  water's  edge  she 
kept  her  eyes  resolutely  from  the  broad  dimpling 
breast  of  the  Nile  toward  the  south.  She  feared  that 
she  might  see  the  light  bari  that  was  driving  back 
to  Memphis  against  that  slow  but  mighty  current  as 
easily  as  if  wind  and  water  went  with  it. 

But  even  before  she  turned  again  toward  Masaarah, 
her  better  nature  began  to  chide  her.  She  remembered 
her  impetuous  act  with  a  flush  of  shame. 

134 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL  135 

"His  peace-offering — a  proof  of  his  good  will,  and 
thou  didst  mistreat  it,  as  if  he  had  meant  it  for  a  pur- 
chase or  a  fee.  The  indignity  thou  hast  petulantly- 
fancied,  Rachel." 

After  a  time  another  thought  came  to  her. 

"The  act  was  not  womanly.  Wherein  hast  thou  re- 
buked him,  in  casting  away  the  trinket?  Thou  hast 
the  dignity  of  Israel  to  uphold  in  thy  dealings  with 
this  young  man." 

When  she  reached  the  spot  where  the  collar  had 
fallen,  she  sought  for  it  furtively,  and  having  found 
it,  thrust  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 

"I  shall  not  keep  it,"  she  said,  quieting  the  protests 
of  her  pride.  "I  shall  make  him  take  it  back  to-mor- 
row." 

Entering  her  low  shelter  in  the  camp  some  time 
later,  she  found  Deborah  absent.  Impelled  by  an  un- 
reasoning desire  to  keep  secret  this  event,  she  hastily 
hid  the  collar  in  the  sand  of  the  tent  floor  and  laid 
the  straw  matting  of  her  bed  smoothly  over  its  burial 
place.  Again  she  struggled  with  her  pride  and  de- 
manded of  herself  why  she  had  become  secretive. 

"Fie!"  she  replied.  "How  couldst  thou  tell  this 
story  to  Deborah  ?  Why,  it  is  well-nigh  unbecoming." 

The  dusk  settled  down  over  the  valley.  Deborah 
came  in  like  a  phantom  from  the  camp-fires  with  the 
evening  meal,  and  the  pair  sat  down  together  to  eat, 
Rachel  silent,  Deborah  thoughtful. 

"Another  Egyptian  comes  to  govern  Masaara'h," 
the  old  woman  observed.  "Agistas  departed  but  now, 
leaving  the  camp  in  charge  of  the  under-drivers." 

"It  makes  little  odds  with  us — this  change  of  task- 
masters, Deborah — be  he  Agistas  or  any  other  Egyp- 


136  THE   YOKE 

tian.  They  are  masters  and  we  continue  to  be  slaves," 
Rachel  answered  after  a  little  silence. 

"Nay,  art  thou  losing  spirit?"  Deborah  asked  with 
animation.  "How  shall  the  elders  keep  of  good  heart 
if  the  young  surrender  ?" 

"I  despair  not,"  the  girl  protested.  "I  did  but  re- 
mark this  thing ;  and  I  have  spoken  truly,  have  I  not  ?" 

"Even  so.  But  this  evening  there  must  be  more 
recognition  in  thee  of  thy  lot  since  it  overflows  in 
words.    I,  too,  have  spoken  truly,  have  I  not  ?" 

Rachel  smiled.    "It  may  be,"  she  said. 

When  they  had  supped,  they  went  out  before  the 
tent  to  get  the  cooling  air.  It  was  Deborah  again 
that  first  broke  the  silence. 

"Elias  is  smitten  with  blindness  from  the 'stone- 
dust,"  she  said  absently. 

hFor  all  time  ?"  Rachel  asked  anxiously. 

"Nay,  if  he  could  but  rest  them  and  bathe  them 
in  the  proper  simples." 

"Alas — "  Rachel  began,  but  she  checked  herself  hur- 
riedly. "He  was  my  father's  servant,"  she  said  in- 
stead— "the  last  living  one.  Jehovah  spare  him.  One 
by  one  they  fall,  until  I  shall  be  utterly  without  tie  to 
prove  I  once  had  kindred." 

Deborah  looked  at  the  girl  fixedly  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  put  up  her  hand  and  leaned  on  the  soft 
young  shoulder. 

"Am  I  not  left?"  she  asked. 

Rachel  passed  her  arm  about  the  bowed  figure,  with 
some  compunction  for  her  complaint. 

"My  mother's  friend!"  she  exclaimed  lovingly.  "I 
know  she  died  in  peace,  remembering  that  I  was  left 
to  thy  care." 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL  137 

"I  mind  me,"  she  continued  after  a  little  silence, 
"how  tender  and  frail  she  was.  Thou  wast  as  a  strong 
tree  beside  her.  I  seem  to  myself  to  be  mighty  com- 
pared to  my  memory  of  her." 

Deborah  took  the  white  hand  that  lay  across  her 
shoulder.  "Thou  art  like  to  thy  father.  Thy  mother 
was  black-eyed  and  fragile — born  to  the  soft  life  of  a 
princess.  Misfortune  was  her  death,  though  she  strug- 
gled to  live  for  thee.  Praise  God  that  thou  art  like 
to  thy  father,  else  thou  hadst  died  in  thine  infancy." 

"Nay,  hath  my  lot  been  sterner  than  the  portion  of 
all  Israel?" 

"Of  a  surety,  thou  canst  guess  it,  for  are  there  many 
of  thy  tribe  like  thee — without  a  kinsman  ?" 

Rachel  shook  her  head,  and  the  old  woman  contin- 
ued absently:  "Of  thy  mother's  family  there  were 
four,  but  they  died  of  the  heavy  labor.  Thy  father, 
Maai,  surnamed  the  Compassionate,  was  the  eldest  of 
six.  They  were  mighty  men,  tawny  like  the  lion  and 
as  bold — worthy  sons  of  Judah!  But  there  is  none 
left — not  one." 

"Ten !"  Rachel  exclaimed,  "and  not  one  remaineth !" 

"Aye,  and  they  died  as  though  they  were  plague- 
smitten — in  pairs  and  singly,  in  a  little  space." 

Deborah  felt  a  strong  tremor  run  through  the  young 
figure  against  which  she  leaned,  and  the  arm  across 
her  shoulder  was  withdrawn,  that  the  hand  might 
clear  the  eyes  of  their  tears. 

The  old  woman  discreetly  held  her  peace  till  the 
girl  should  recover. 

"Thou  must  bear  in  mind,  Rachel,"  she  began,  after 
a  long  silence,  "that  Egypt  had  an  especial  grudge 
against    thy    house, — hence,    its    especial    vengeance. 


138  THE   YOKE 

Seti,  the  Pharaoh,  began  the  oppression  of  the  children 
of  Israel,  but  the  bondage  was  not  all-embracing,  in 
the  beginning.  There  were  Hebrews  to  whom  Egypt 
was  indebted  and  chief  among  these  was  thy  father's 
grandsire,  Aram.  Seti  paid  the  debt  to  him  by  spar- 
ing his  small  lands  and  his  little  treasure  and  himself 
when  he  put  Israel  to  toil.  Thy  father's  father,  thy 
grandsire,  Elihu,  younger  brother  to  Amminadab,  who 
was  father-in-law  to  Aaron,  came  to  his  share  of  his 
father's  goods  when  Aram  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 
This  was  in  the  latter  days  of  Seti.  Thy  grandsire 
sent  his  little  treasure  into  Arabia  and  bought  lands 
with  it.  After  many  trials  he  caused  to  grow 
thereon  a  rose-shrub  which  had  no  period  of  rest 
— blooming  freshly  with  every  moon.  And  there 
he  had  the  Puntish  scentmaker  on  the  hip,  for  the 
Arabic  rose  rested  often.  The  attar  he  distilled  from 
his  untiring  flower,  had  another  odor,  wild  and  sweet 
and  of  a  daintier  strength.  When  he  was  ready  to 
trade  he  sent  in  a  vial  of  crystal  to  Neferari  Ther- 
muthis  and  to  Moses,  then  a  young  man  and  a  prince 
of  the  realm,  a  few  drops  of  this  wondrous  perfume. 
Doubt  not,  the  Hebrew  prince  knew  that  the  gift  came 
from  a  son  of  Israel.  The  queen  and  Moses  used  the 
attar.  Therefore  all  purple-wearing  Egypt  must  have 
it  or  die,  since  the  fashion  had  been  set  within  the 
boundaries  of  the  throne.  Then  did  Elihu  name  a  price 
for  his  sweet  odor  that  might  have  been  small  had  each 
drop  been  a  jewel.  But  Egypt  opened  her  coffers 
and  bought  as  though  her  idols  had  broken  their 
silence  and  commanded  her." 

The  old  woman  paused  and  reflected  with  grim  sat- 
isfaction on  the  remote  days  of  an  Israelitish  triumph. 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL  139 

"Meanwhile,"  she  continued  finally,  "thy  grandsire 
lived  humbly  in  Goshen.  None  dreamed  that  this 
keeper  of  a  little  flock,  lord  over  a  little  tent  and  tiller 
of  a  few  acres,  was  the  great  Syrian  merchant  who 
was  despoiling  Mizraim. 

"Next  he  became  a  money-lender,  through  his  stew- 
ard, to  the  Egyptians,  and  wrested  from  them  what 
they  had  saved  in  putting  Israel  to  toil  without  hire. 
So  his  riches  increased  a  hundredfold  and  the  half 
of  noble  Egypt  was  beholden  to  him.  Then  he  turned 
to  aid  his  oppressed  brethren. 

"He  bribed  the  taskmasters  or  kept  watch  over 
them  and  discovered  wherein  they  were  false  to  the 
Pharaoh,  and  held  their  own  sin  over  their  heads  till 
they  submitted  through  fear  of  him.  He  filled  Israel's 
fields  with  cattle,  the  hills  with  Hebrew  flocks,  the  val- 
leys with  corn.  Alas!  Had  it  not  been — but,  nay, 
Jehovah  was  not  yet  ready.  He  had  chosen  Moses  to 
lead  Israel." 

The  old  woman  paused  and  sighed.  After  a  silence 
she  continued : 

"Thy  father  fell  heir  to  the  most  of  his  wealth,  but 
not  to  his  immunity.  With  a  heart  as  great  as  his 
sire's  he  continued  the  good  work.  He  wedded  thy 
mother,  the  daughter  of  another  free  Israelite,  and  in 
his  love  for  her,  never  was  man  more  happy.  In  the 
midst  of  his  hope  and  his  peace  an  enemy  betrayed 
him  to  Rameses,  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh.  And 
Rameses  remembered  not  his  father's  covenant.  So 
Maai's  lands,  his  flocks,  his  home,  were  taken;  thou, 
but  new-born,  and  thy  mother  with  her  people  were 
sent  to  the  brick-fields — himself  and  his  brothers  to  the 


140  THE   YOKE 

mines ;  and  in  a  few  years  thou  wast  all  that  was  left 
of  thy  father's  house." 

The  effect  of  this  recital  on  the  young  Israelite  was 
deep.  Anguish,  wrath,  and  the  pain  that  intensifies 
these  two,  helplessness,  inflamed  her  soul.  The  story 
was  not  entirely  new  to  her;  she  had  heard  it,  a  part 
at  a  time,  in  her  childhood ;  but  now,  her  understand- 
ing fully  developed,  the  whole  history  of  her  family's 
wrongs  appealed  to  her  in  all  its  actual  savagery. 
Egypt,  as  a  unit,  like  a  single  individual,  had  done  her 
people  to  death.  Between  her  and  Egypt,  then,  should 
be  bitter  enmity,  rancor  that  might  never  be  subdued, 
and  eternal  warfare.  Her  enemy  had  conquered  her, 
had  put  her  in  bondage,  and  made  sport  of  her  as  a 
pastime.  The  accumulation  of  injury  and  insult 
seemed  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  the  vague  hope 
of  Israel  in  Moses  seemed  in  the  face  of  Egypt's 
strength  a  folly  most  fatuous. 

"O  Egypt!  Egypt!"  she  exclaimed  with  concen- 
trated passion.  "What  a  debt  of  vengeance  Israel 
owes  to  thee !" 

The  old  woman  laid  her  shriveled  hands  on  the  arm 
of  her  ward. 

"Aye,  and  it  shall  be  paid,"  she  said  fiercely.  "Thou 
canst  not  get  thy  people  back,  nor  alleviate  for  them 
now  the  pangs  that  killed  them;  but  to  the  mortally 
wronged  there  is  one  restitution — revenge!" 

At  this  moment  some  one  over  near  the  western 
limits  of  the  camp  cried  out  a  welcome ;  a  commotion 
arose,  noisy  with  cheers  and  rapid  with  running. 
Presently  it  died  down  and  the  pair  before  the  tent 
saw  a  horseman  ride  through  the  gloom  toward  the 
empty  frame  house  of  the  overseer. 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL  141 

The  two  women  lapsed  immediately  into  their  ab- 
sorbed communion  again. 

"Lay  it  not  to  Egypt  alone,  but  to  all  the  offenders 
against  Jehovah.  Midian  and  Amalek,  passing  through 
to  do  homage  to  the  Pharaoh,  sneer  at  Israel ;  Babylon 
in  her  chariot  of  gold  flicks  her  whip  at  the  sons  of 
Abraham  as  she  bears  her  gifts  of  sisterhood  to  Mem- 
phis. We  suffer  not  only  the  insults  of  a  single  nation, 
but  despiteful  use  by  all  idolaters.  Let  but  the  world 
gather  before  Jehovah's  altar  and  there  shall  be  no 
more  affronts  to  Israel." 

"Must  we  bide  that  time  ?"  Rachel  asked.  "Or  shall 
we  bring  it  about?" 

"Nay,"  Deborah  replied  scornfully.  "Even  my  mys- 
tic eyes  are  not  potent  enough  to  see  so  far  into  the 
future.  We  throw  off  the  bondage  sooner  than  thou 
dreamest,  daughter  of  Judah,  but  if  the  nations  bow  at 
the  altar  of  Jehovah,  it  will  take  a  stronger  hand  than 
Israel's  to  bring  them  there." 

After  a  silence  Rachel  murmured,  as  though  to  her- 
self :  "We  shall  go,  and  soon,  and  leave  no  debt  behind. 
Will  the  vengeance  befall  all  Egypt,  the  good  as  well 
as  the  bad  ?" 

"Hast  thou  forgotten  God's  promise  to  Abraham 
concerning  the  wicked  cities  of  the  plain?  If  there 
were  ten  righteous  therein  He  had  not  destroyed  them 
utterly." 

"Nay,  but  if  there  be  but  one  therein  ?" 

"One?  Now,  for  what  one  dost  thou  concern  thy- 
self?   Atsu?" 

Rachel,  startled  out  of  her  dream,  hesitated,  her  face 
coloring  hotly,  though  unseen,  beneath  the  kindly  dusk 
of  night. 


i42  THE   YOKE 

"Yea,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  wondering  gravely 
if  she  spake  the  truth.  Somebody  beside  her  laughed 
the  short  unready  laugh  of  one  slow  at  mirth. 

"Of  a  truth?"  he  asked.  Rachel  turned  about  and 
faced  Atsu.  He  took  her  hands  and  drew  her  near 
him. 

"Nay,  Deborah,"  he  said  sadly ;  "pursue  her  not  into 
the  secret  chambers  of  her  young  heart.  I  doubt  not 
there  is  'one'  therein,  but  why  shall  we  demand  what 
manner  of  'one'  it  is  when  she  may  not  even  confess  it 
to  herself  ?" 

Confused  and  a  little  guilty  by  reason  of  the  neck- 
lace, and  wondering  why  she  admitted  any  guilt, 
Rachel  drew  away  from  him. 

"Nay,"  he  went  on,  retaining  his  clasp.  "Let  there 
be  perfect  understanding  between  us  twain,  thou  Radi- 
ant One.  I  shall  not  plague  thee  with  my  love,  nor  even 
let  it  be  apparent  after  this.  Men  have  lived  in  con- 
stant fellowship,  but  no  nearer  to  the  women  whom 
they  love,  and  am  I  less  able  than  my  kind?  So  I 
be  not  hateful  to  thee,  Rachel,  I  am  content." 

"Hateful  to  me !"  she  cried  reproachfully. 

"Nay?  No  more  then.  I  have  spoken  the  last 
with  thee  concerning  my  love.  And  thus  I  seal  the 
pact." 

He  drew  her,  unresisting,  to  him,  and  kissed  her 
forehead. 

"For  my  gentleness  to  the  Hebrews  of  Pa-Ramesu," 
he  continued  in  a  calmer  tone  as  he  released  her,  "they 
have  stripped  me  of  my  rank  and  sent  me  to  govern 
Masaarah.  So  they  thought  to  punish  me,  never 
dreaming  that  they  joined  me  to  Rachel,  and  hid  me 
away  in  a  nook  with  a  handful  to  whom  I  may  be  mer- 


THE   DEBT   OF   ISRAEL  143 

ciful  and  none  will  spy  upon  me !  They  thwarted  their 
end." 

"Happy  Masaarah!"  Rachel  said  earnestly. 

Atsu  laughed  again  and  disappeared  in  the  dark. 

Rachel  drew  her  hand  furtively  across  the  place  on 
her  brow  that  the  taskmaster's  lips  had  touched.  The 
keen  eyes  of  the  old  Israelite  saw  the  motion  and  un- 
derstood it. 

"It  is  not  Atsu,"  she  said  astutely. 

"Nay,"  the  girl  protested,  "and  yet  it  is  Atsu,  in 
mine  own  meaning,  or  any  one  in  Egypt  who  is  fair 
to  Israel.  The  grace  of  that  one  would  be  sufficient 
in  God's  sight  to  save  all  Egypt  from  doom.  That  was 
my  meaning." 

The  light  in  the  frame  quarters  of  the  taskmaster 
was  extinguished  and  at  that  moment  a  shadowy  fig- 
ure emerged  from  the  dark  and  approached  the  pair. 

"A  courier  from  Mesu  speaketh  without  the  camp, 
even  now,"  the  visiting  Israelite  said  in  a  half-whisper. 
"Atsu  hath  put  out  his  light,  to  sleep,  but  even  if  he 
sleep  not,  the  people  may  go  without  fear  and  listen 
to  the  speaker.    Come  ye  and  give  him  audience." 

"We  come,"  Deborah  replied. 

As  the  old  woman  and  her  ward  walked  down 
through  the  night  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  entire 
population  of  the  quarries,  Deborah  said  quietly : 

"Thy  cloud  of  depression  hath  rifted  somewhat 
since  sunset,  daughter." 

Rachel  pressed  her  hand  repentantly. 

At  the  side  of  an  open  space,  now  closely  filled  with 
sitting  listeners,  stood  a  Hebrew,  not  older  than  thirty- 
five.  A  knot  of  flaming  pitch,  stuck  in  a  crevice  of 
rock   near   him,   lighted    his    face   and    figure.     His 


144  THE   YOKE 

frame  had  the  characteristic  stalwart  structure  of  the 
Israelitish  bondman.  The  black  hair  waved  back 
from  a  placid  white  forehead;  the  eyes  were  serene 
and  level,  the  mouth  rather  wide  but  firm,  the  jaw 
square.  The  beard  would  have  been  light  for  a  much 
younger  man,  and  it  was  soft,  red-brown  and  curling. 
It  added  a  mildness  and  tenderness  to  the  face.  Who- 
ever looked  upon  him  was  impressed  with  the  unflinch- 
ing piety  of  the  countenance. 

This  was  Caleb  the  Faithful,  son  of  Jephunneh,  the 
Kenezite. 

He  was  talking  when  Rachel  and  her  ancient  guard- 
ian entered  the  hollow,  and  he  continued  in  a  passive 
tone  throughout  the  several  arrivals  thereafter.  He 
spoke  as  one  that  believes  unfalteringly  and  has  evi- 
dence for  the  faith.  He  did  not  recount  Israel's  wrongs 
— he  would  have  worked  against  his  purpose  had  he 
wrought  his  hearers  into  an  angry  mood.  Besides, 
the  story  would  have  been  superfluous.  None  knew 
Israel's  wrongs  better  than  Israel. 

He  talked  of  redemption  and  Canaan. 


CHAPTER  XI 


HEBREW    CRAFT 


When  Mentu  returned  from  On  a  light,  had  kindled 
in  his  eyes  and  his  stately  step  had  grown  elastic.  The 
man  that  withdraws  from  a  busy  life  while  in  full 
vigor  has  beckoned  to  Death.  Inactivity  preys  upon 
him  like  a  disease.  The  great  artist,  forced  into  idle- 
ness by  the  succession  of  an  incapable  king,  had  been 
renewed  by  the  prospect  of  labor  which  his  exaltation 
into  the  high  office  had  afforded.  With  pleasure  in 
his  heart,  Kenkenes  watched  his  father  grow  young 
again. 

"Who  was  thy  good  friend  in  this  ?"  the  young  man 
asked  one  evening  after  a  number  of  contented  re- 
marks concerning  the  murket's  appointment.  "Who 
said  the  word  in  the  Pharaoh's  ear?" 

"So  to  raise  me  to  this  office  it  is  needful  that  some- 
thing more  than  my  deserts  must  have  urged  the 
king?"  Mentu  retorted. 

"Nay!  that  was  not  my  meaning,"  Kenkenes  made 
haste  to  say.  "But  thou  knowest,  my  father,  that 
Meneptah  must  be  for  ever  directed.  Who,  then,  of- 
fered him  this  wise  counsel  ?    Rameses  ?" 

"It  was  never  Har-hat,"  Mentu  replied,  but  half 
placated. 

145 


146  THE   YOKE 

"If  he  had,  thou  and  I  must  no  longer  call  him  a 
poor  counselor." 

"Bribe — "  the  murket  began,  ruffled  once  more. 

"Nay,"  Kenkenes  interrupted  smiling.  "He  had 
but  proved  himself  worthy  and  wise." 

Mentu  shook  his  head,  but  there  was  no  more  tem- 
per evident  in  his  face. 

"Now  is  a  propitious  hour  for  a  good  counselor," 
Kenkenes  pursued. 

"What  knowest  thou  ?"  Mentu  asked  with  interest. 

"Tape,"  the  young  man  replied  briefly. 

"Nay,  the  sedition  in  Tape  is  old  and  vitiated." 

"And  the  Hak-heb." 

"That  breach  may  be  healed.  But  we  have  sedition 
to  fear  among  the  bond-people — " 

"The  bond-people !" 

"Even  so.    Open  and  organized  sedition." 

"The  Israelites?"  Kenkenes  exclaimed  with  an  in- 
credulous note  in  his  voice. 

"The  Israelites." 

"I  would  sooner  fear  a  rebellion  among  the  draft- 
oxen  and  the  mules  of  Nehapehu."* 

"The  elder  Seti's  fears  and  the  fears  of  the  great 
Rameses  were  other  than  yours." 

"O,  aye,  they  had  cause  for  fear  then,  but  since  Seti 
yoked  the  creatures — " 

"The  Pharaohs  did  not  begin  in  time,"  the  elder 
man  interrupted.  "Had  that  royal  fiat,  the  decima- 
tion of  Hebrew  children,  continued,  we  should  not  have 
had  the  Israelite  to-day,  but  gods !"  he  shuddered  with 
horror.     "I  hope  that  is  a  horrid  slander — tradition, 

*The  Fayum. 


HEBREW   CRAFT  147 

not  fact.  I  like  not  to  lay  the  slaughter  of  babes  at 
the  door  of  any  Egyptian  dynasty.  But  had  an  early 
Pharaoh  of  the  house  of  Tothmes  enforced  the  absorp- 
tion of  the  Hebrew  by  his  same  rank  among  the  Egyp- 
tian, we  should  not  have  the  menace  of  a  hostile  alien 
within  our  borders  to-day.  The  heavy  hand  of  oppres- 
sion has  made  a  wondrous  race  of  them  for  strength. 
Theirs  is  no  mean  intellect;  great  men  have  come 
from  among  them,  and  they  will  be  a  hardy  foe  arrayed 
against  us." 

"They  are  not  warriors;  they  are  poor  and  une- 
quipped for  hostilities;  they  are  thoroughly  under 
subjection,"  the  young  man  pursued.  "What  can  they 
do  against  us  ?" 

"Do !"  Mentu  exclaimed  with  impatience  in  the  rep- 
etition. "They  have  only  to  say  to  the  banished 
Hyksos:  'Come  ye,  let  us  do  battle  with  Egypt.  We 
will  be  your  mercenaries.'  They  have  only  to  send 
greeting  to  that  lean  traitor  Amon-meses,  thus :  'Give 
us  the  Delta  to  be  ours  and  we  will  help  you  win  all 
Egypt,'  and  there  will  be  enough  done." 

"They  must  have  a  pact  among  themselves  and  a 
leader,  first,"  Kenkenes  objected. 

"Have  I  not  said  they  are  organized?  And  their 
leader  is  found.  He  is  a  foster-brother  to  Meneptah ; 
an  initiated  priest  of  Isis ;  a  sorcerer  and  an  infidel  of 
the  blackest  order.  He  is  Prince  Mesu,  a  Hebrew  by 
birth." 

"Dost  thou  know  him?"  Kenkenes  asked  with  in- 
terest. 

"Nay,  he  has  dwelt  in  Midian  these  forty  years. 
He  returned  some  time  ago  and  hath  dwelt  passively 
in  Goshen  till — " 


i48  THE   YOKE 

The  artist  dropped  his  voice  and  came  nearer  to  his 
son. 

"He  hath  dwelt  passively  in  Goshen  till  of  late,  and 
it  is  whispered  that  some  secret  work  against  him  in- 
augurated by  the  priesthood,  or  mayhap  the  Pharaoh, 
hath  given  him  provocation  to  revolt  against  Menep- 
tah." 

After  a  silence  Kenkenes  asked  in  a  lowered  tone: 

"Hath  he  made  demonstration?" 

"O,  aye,  he  is  clamoring  to  lead  his  people  a  three 
days'  journey  into  the  wilderness  to  make  sacrifice 
to  their  god." 

"Shades  of  mine  ancestors !  If  that  is  all,  let  them, 
so  they  return,"  Kenkenes  said  amicably. 

"Let  them!"  the  sculptor  exploded.  "Dost  thou 
believe  that  they  would  return  ?" 

"I  apprehend  that  the  Rameside  army  would  be 
capable  of  thwarting  them  if  they  were  disposed  to 
depart  permanently." 

"Thou  dost  apprehend — aye,  of  a  truth,  I  know  thou 
dost!  Halt  all  our  works  of  peace  for  an  indefinite 
time;  mass  the  vast  army  of  the  Pharaoh  and  spend 
days  and  good  arrows  in  retrieving  the  runaways, 
merely  that  a  barbarian  god  may  smell  the  savor  of 
holy  animals  sacrificed!  Gods!  Kenkenes,  thou  art 
as  trustworthy  a  counselor  as  Har-hat!" 

Thereafter  there  was  a  silence  in  the  work-room. 
But  a  peppery  man  is  seldom  sulky,  and  Kenkenes 
was  fully  prepared  for  the  mildness  in  his  father's 
voice  when  he  spoke  again. 

"Thou  shouldst  see  the  pretense  in  his  demand, 
Kenkenes.    He  must  have  provocation  to  urge  him  to 


HEBREW    CRAFT  149 

rebellion,  and  he  knows  full  well  that  Meneptah  will 
not  grant  that  petition." 

"But  hath  he  not  provocation — thou  hast  but  a  mo- 
ment ago  told — " 

"But  that  was  only  an  offense  against  him.  The 
whole  people  would  not  go  into  revolt  because  some 
one  had  conspired  against  one  of  their  number.  There- 
fore he  telleth  Israel  that  its  God  would  have  Israel 
make  a  pilgrimage,  promising  curses  upon  the  people 
if  they  obey  not.  Then  he  putteth  the  appeal  to  the 
Pharaoh  and  the  Pharaoh  denieth  it.  Wherefore  the 
whole  people  is  enraged  and  hath  rallied  to  the  con- 
spirator's cause.     Seest  thou,  my  son  ?" 

"It  is  strategy  worthy  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh — " 

"It  is  Hebrew  craft !" 

"Perhaps  thou  art  right.  But  what  personal  grudge 
hath  Mesu  against  Egypt  or  the  priesthood  or  Menep- 
tah?" 

"It  is  said  that  he  was  wanted  out  of  the  way,  and 
by  an  unfortunate  sum  of  accidents,  the  miscarriage 
of  a  priest's  letter  and  a  fight  between  a  messenger  and 
Bedouins  in  front  of  a  Hebrew  tent,  gave  the  informa- 
tion into  the  hands  of  Mesu  himself." 

By  this  time  Kenkenes  was  on  his  feet. 

"A  miscarriage  of  a  priest's  letter,"  he  repeated 
slowly. 

The  artist  nodded. 

After  the  silence  the  young  man  spoke  again : 

"And  thou  believest  truly  that  because  of  this  letter 
— because  of  this  Israelite's  grievance  against  the  pow- 
ers of  Egypt,  we  shall  have  uprising  and  serious 
trouble  among  our  bond-people?" 


150  THE   YOKE 

"I  have  said,"  Mentu  answered,  raising  his  head 
as  though  surprised  at  the  earnestness  in  his  son's 
voice.  Kenkenes  did  not  meet  his  father's  eyes.  He 
turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  work-room. 

Had  the  spiteful  Seven,  the  Hathors,  used  him  as  a 
tool  whereby  mischief  should  be  wrought  between  the 
nation  and  her  slaves  ? 


CHAPTER  XII 

CANAAN 

When  the  imperative  necessity  of  harmonious  ex- 
pression became  apparent,  the  young  artist  laid  aside 
his  chisel  and  mallet,  and  the  Arabian  desert  knew 
his  footsteps  no  more  for  many  days  after  the  rough- 
hewing  of  Athor's  face.  Instead,  he  mingled  with  the 
people  of  Memphis  in  quest  of  the  expression.  The 
pursuit  became  fascinating  and  all-absorbing.  With 
the  most  deliberate  calculation,  he  studied  the  faces  of 
the  betrothed  and  of  newly  wedded  wives,  and  finding 
too  much  of  content  therein,  he  sought  out  the  unelect 
for  study.    And  with  these,  his  search  ended. 

Thereafter  he  made  innumerable  heads  in  clay,  and 
covered  linen  scrolls  with  drawings.  But  it  was  the 
semblance  he  gained  and  not  the  spirit.  The  light 
eluded  him. 

On  the  day  after  Mentu's  return  from  On,  Kenkenes 
paid  the  first  visit  to  Masaarah  since  the  incident  of 
the  collar, — and  the  last  he  thought  to  make  until  he 
had  won  that  for  which  he  strove.  He  went  to  bury 
the  matting  in  the  sand  and  to  hide  other  evidences 
of  recent  occupancy  about  the  niche.  He  left  the 
block  of  stone  undisturbed,  for  the  transgression  was 
not  yet  apparent  on  the  face  of  Athor.  The  scrolls, 
which  had  been  concealed  under  the  carpeting,  were 

151 


152  THE   YOKE 

too  numerous  for  his  wallet  to  contain,  but  he  carried 
the  surplus  openly  in  his  hand. 

It  was  sunset  before  he  had  made  an  end.  To  return 
to  the  Nile  by  way  of  the  cliff-front  would  have  saved 
him  time,  but  there  was  a  boyish  wish  in  his  heart  to 
look  again  on  the  lovely  face  that  had  helped  him  and 
baffled  him.  So  he  descended  into  the  upper  end  of 
the  ravine  and  slowly  passed  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp,  but  the  bond-girl  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The 
spaces  between  the  low  tents  were  filled  with  feeding 
laborers  and  there  was  an  unusual  amount  of  cheer 
to  be  noted  among  Israel  of  Masaarah.  Kenkenes 
heard  the  talk  and  laughter  with  some  wonderment  as 
he  passed.  He  admitted  that  he  was  disappointed 
when,  without  a  glimpse  of  Rachel,  he  emerged  into 
the  Nile  valley.  But  he  leaped  lightly  down  the  ledge, 
crossed  the  belt  of  rubble,  talus  and  desert  sand,  and 
entered  the  now  well-marked  wagon  road  between  the 
dark  green  meadow  land  on  either  side.  Egypt  was 
in  shadow — her  sun  behind  the  Libyan  heights, — but 
the  short  twilight  had  not  fallen.  Overhead  were  the 
cooling  depths  of  sky,  as  yet  starless,  but  the  river  was 
breathing  on  the  winds  and  the  sibilant  murmur  of  its 
waters  began  to  talk  above  the  sounds  of  the  city.  To 
the  north,  the  south  and  the  east  was  pastoral  and  des- 
ert quiet;  to  the  west  was  the  gradual  subsidence  of 
urban  stir.  Frogs  were  beginning  to  croak  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  in  the  long  grain  here  and  there,  a  noctur- 
nal insect  chirred  and  stilled  abruptly  as  the  young 
man  passed. 

Within  a  rod  of  the  pier  some  one  called : 

"My  master !" 

The  voice  came  from  a  distance,  but  he  knew  whom 


CANAAN  153 

he  should  see  when  he  turned.  Half-way  across  the 
field  toward  the  quarries  Rachel  was  coming,  with  a 
scroll  in  her  lifted  hand.  He  began  to  retrace  his 
steps  to  meet  her,  but  she  noted  the  action  and  quick- 
ened her  rapid  walk  into  running. 

"Thou  didst  drop  this  outside  the  camp,"  she  said 
as  she  came  near.  "I  feared  it  might  have  somewhat 
pertaining  to  the  statue  on  it,  and  I  have  brought  it, 
with  the  permission  of  the  taskmaster."  She  stopped, 
and  putting  her  hand  into  the  folds  of  her  habit  on  her 
breast,  hesitated  as  if  for  words  to  speak  further. 
Kenkenes  interrupted  her  with  his  thanks. 

"How  thou  hast  fatigued  thyself  for  me,  Rachel! 
Out  of  all  Egypt  I  doubt  if  I  might  find  another  so 
constant  guardian  of  my  welfare.  The  grace  of  the 
gods  attend  thee  as  faithfully.  I  thank  thee,  most 
gratefully." 

The  purpose  in  her  face  dissolved,  the  hand  that 
seemed  to  hold  somewhat  in  the  folds  of  her  habit 
relaxed  and  fell  slowly.  While  Kenkenes  waited 
for  her  to  speak,  he  noted  that  a  dress  of  unbleached 
linen  replaced  the  coarse  cotton  surplice  she  had 
worn  before,  and  her  feet  were  shod  with  simple 
sandals — an  extravagance  among  slaves.  But  the 
garb  was  yet  too  mean.  The  sculptor  wondered  at 
that  moment  how  the  sumptuous  attire  of  the  high- 
born Memphian  women  would  become  her.  He 
shook  his  head  and  in  his  imagination  dressed  her  in 
snow-white  robes  with  but  the  collar  of  rings  about 
her  throat,  and  stood  back  to  marvel  at  his  picture  of 
splendid  simplicity. 

"Hast  thou  not  something  more  to  tell  me  ?"  he  asked 


154  THE   YOKE 

kindly.  "Do  thou  rest  here  on  the  wharf  while  we  talk. 
Art  thou  not  quite  breathless  ?" 

"Nay,  I  thank  thee,"  she  faltered.  "I  may  not 
linger."  The  hand  once  again  sought  the  folds  over 
her  breast. 

"Then  let  me  walk  with  thee  on  thy  way.  It  will 
be  dark  soon." 

"Nay,"  she  protested  flushing,  "and  again,  I  thank 
thee.  It  is  not  needful."  She  made  a  movement  as 
if  to  leave  him,  but  he  stepped  to  her  side. 

"Out  upon  thee,  daughter  of  Israel,  thou  art  ungra- 
cious," he  remonstrated  laughingly.  "I  can  not  think 
thee  so  wondrous  brave.  For  it  is  a  long  walk  to  the 
camp  and  the  night  will  be  pitch-black.  Why  may  I 
not  go  with  thee?" 

"There  is  naught  to  be  feared." 

"Of  a  truth?  Those  hills  are  as  full  of  wild 
beasts  as  Amenti  is  of  spirits.  And  even  if  no  hurt 
befell  thee,  the  trepidation  of  that  long  journey  would 
be  cruel.  Nay;  Ptah,  the  gallant  god,  would  spurn 
my  next  offering,  did  I  send  thee  back  to  camp  alone. 
Wilt  thou  come  ?" 

She  bowed  and  dropped  behind  him.  Her  resolu- 
tion to  maintain  the  forms  of  different  rank  between 
them  was  not  characteristic  of  other  slaves  he  had 
known.  There  was  no  presumption  or  humble  grati- 
tude in  her  manner  when  he  would  offer  her  the  cour- 
tesies of  an  equal,  but  he  had  met  the  disdain  of  a 
peer  once  when  he  thought  he  talked  with  a  slave. 
There  was  something  mocking  in  her  perfunctory  def- 
erence, but  her  pride  was  genuine.  Her  conduct 
seemed  to  say:    "I  would  liefer  be  a  Hebrew  and  a 


CANAAN  155 

slave  than  a  princess  of  the  God-forgotten  realm  of 
Egypt." 

The  young  sculptor  was  unruffled,  however.  He 
was  turning  over  in  his  mind,  with  interest,  the  evi- 
dence that  tended  to  show  that  the  Israelite  had  some- 
thing more  to  tell  him,  that  her  courage  had  failed  her 
and  that  her  hand  had  sought  something  concealed  in 
her  dress.  He  recalled  the  former  meetings  with  her 
and  arrived  at  a  surmise  so  sudden  and  so  conclusive 
that  with  difficulty  he  kept  himself  from  making  out- 
ward demonstration  of  his  conviction.  "The  collar, 
by  Apis !  I  offended  her  with  the  trinket.  And  she 
came  to  make  me  take  it  back,  but  her  courage  fled. 
Fie  upon  my  clumsy  gallantries !  I  must  make  amends. 
I  would  not  have  her  hate  me." 

He  broke  the  silence  with  an  old,  old  remark — one 
that  Adam  might  have  made  to  Eve. 

"Look  at  the  stars,  Rachel.  There  is  a  dark  case- 
ment in  the  heavens — a  blink  of  the  eye  and  the  lamp 
is  alight." 

"So  I  watch  them  every  night.  But  they  are  swifter 
here  in  Memphis.  At  Mendes,  where  Israel  toiled 
once,  they  are  more  deliberate,"  she  answered  readily. 

"Aye,  but  you  should  see  them  at  Philse.  They 
ignite  and  bound  into  brilliance  like  sparks  of  meeting 
metal  and  flint.    Ah,  but  the  tropics  are  precipitate !" 

"I  know  them  not,"  she  ventured. 

"Their  acquaintance  is  better  avoided.  They  have 
no  mean — they  leap  from  extreme  to  extreme.  They 
are  violent,  immoderate.  It  is  instant  night  and  in- 
stant day ;  it  is  the  maddest  passion  of  summer  always. 
Nature  reigns  at  the  top  of  her  voice  and  chokes  her 


156  THE   YOKE 

realm  with  the  fervor  of  her  maternity.  Nay,  give 
me  the  north.  I  would  feel  the  earth's  pulse  now  and 
then  without  burning  my  fingers." 

"There  is  room  for  choice  in  this  land  of  thine,"  she 
mused  after  a  little. 

"Land  of  mine?"  he  repeated  inquiringly,  turning 
his  head  to  look  at  her.    "Is  it  not  also  thine  ?" 

"Nay,  it  is  not  the  Hebrews'  and  it  never  was,"  the 
clear  answer  came  from  the  dusk  behind  him. 

"So!"  he  exclaimed.  "After  four  hundred  years 
in  Egypt  they  have  not  adopted  her !" 

"We  have  but  sojourned  here  a  night.  The  jour- 
ney's end  is  farther  on." 

"Israel  hath  made  a  long  night  of  the  sojourn,"  he 
rejoined  laughingly. 

"Nay,"  she  answered.  "Thou  hast  not  said  aright. 
It  is  Egypt  that  hath  made  a  long  night  of  our  so- 
journ." 

There  was  a  silence  in  which  Kenkenes  felt  accused 
and  uncomfortable.  It  would  require  little  to  make 
harsh  the  temper  of  the  talk.  It  lay  with  him,  one  of 
the  race  of  offenders,  to  make  amends. 

"It  is  for  me  to  admit  Egypt's  sin  and  ask  a  truce," 
he  said  gently.  "So  be  thou  generous  to  me,  since  it  is 
I  who  am  abashed  in  her  stead." 

Again  there  was  silence,  broken  at  last  by  the  Israel- 
ite in  a  voice  grown  wondrously  contrite. 

"I  do  not  reproach  thee.  Nor,  indeed,  is  all  Egypt 
at  fault.    The  sin  lies  with  the  Pharaohs." 

"Ah !  the  gods  forbid !"  he  protested.  "Lay  it  on  the 
shoulders  of  babes,  if  thou  wilt,  but  I  am  party  to 
treason  if  I  but  give  ear  to  a  rebuke  of  the  monarch." 


CANAAN  157 

"I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  law.  I  shall  spare  thee, 
but  I  have  purchased  my  right  to  condemn  the  king." 

''Thou  indomitable!  And  I  accused  thee  of  fear.  I 
retract.  But  tell  me — what  is  the  journey's  end?  Is  it 
the  ultimate  goal  of  all  flesh?" 

"Not  so,"  she  answered  proudly.  "It  is  Israel's 
inheritance  promised  for  four  hundred  years.  The 
time  is  ripe  for  possession.  We  go  forward  to  enter 
into  a  land  of  our  own." 

"Thou  givest  me  news.  Come,  be  the  Hebrews'  his- 
torian and  enlighten  me.    Where  lies  the  land  ?" 

Rachel  hesitated.  To  her  it  was  a  serious  problem 
to  decide  whether  the  lightness  of  the  sculptor's  tone 
were  mockery  or  good  fellowship.  Kenkenes  noted 
her  silence  and  spoke  again. 

"Perchance  I  ask  after  a  hieratic  secret.  If  so,  for- 
give the  blunder." 

"Nay,"  she  replied  at  once.  "It  is  no  secret.  All 
Egypt  will  know  of  it  ere  long.  God  hath  prepared 
us  a  land  wherein  we  may  dwell  under  no  master  but 
Jehovah.  We  go  hence  shortly  to  enter  it.  The  cap- 
tain of  Israel  will  lead  us  thither  and  Jehovah  will 
show  him  the  way.  Abraham  was  informed  that  it  was 
a  wondrous  land  wherein  the  olive  and  the  grape  will 
crown  the  hills ;  the  corn  will  fill  the  valleys ;  the  cattle 
and  sheep,  the  pasture  lands.  There  will  be  many 
rivers  instead  of  one  and  the  desert  will  lie  afar  off 
from  its  confines.  The  sun  will  shine  and  the  rain  will 
fall  and  the  winds  will  blow  as  man  needeth  them,  and 
there  will  be  no  slavery  and  no  heavy  life  therein. 
The  land  shall  be  Israel's  and  its  enemies  shall  crouch 
without  its  borders,  confounded  at  the  splendor  of  the 


158  THE   YOKE 

children  of  God.  And  there  will  our  princes  arise  and 
a  throne  be  set  up  and  a  mighty  nation  established. 
Cities  will  shine  white  and  strong-walled  on  the 
heights,  and  caravans  of  commerce  will  follow  down 
the  broad  roadways  to  the  sea.  There  will  the  ships 
of  Israel  come  bowing  over  the  waters  with  the  riches 
of  the  world,  and  our  wharves  will  be  crowded  with 
purple  and  gold  and  frankincense.  Babylon  shall  do 
homage  on  the  right  hand  and  Egypt  upon  the  left, 
and  the  straight  smoke  from  Jehovah's  altar  will  rise 
from  the  center  unfailing  by  day  or  by  night." 

They  had  reached  the  ledge  and  Kenkenes  sat  down 
on  it,  leaning  on  one  hand  across  Rachel's  way. 
She  paused  near  him.  Even  in  the  dark  he  could  see 
the  light  in  her  eyes,  and  the  joy  of  anticipation  was  in 
her  voice.  As  yet  he  did  not  know  whether  she  talked 
of  the  Israelitish  conception  of  supernal  life,  or  of  a 
belief  in  a  temporal  redemption. 

"And  there  shall  be  no  death  nor  any  of  the  world- 
sorrows  therein  ?"  he  asked. 

"Since  we  shall  dwell  in  the  world  we  may  not  es- 
cape the  world's  uncertainties,"  she  replied,  looking 
at  his  lifted  face.  "But  most  men  live  better  lives 
when  they  live  happily,  and  I  doubt  not  there  will  be 
less  unhappiness,  provident  or  fortuitous,  in  Israel,  the 
nation,  than  in  Israel,  enslaved." 

So  the  slave  talked  of  freedom  as  slaves  talk  of  it — 
hopefully  and  eloquently.  A  pity  asserted  itself  in  the 
young  sculptor's  heart  and  grew  to  such  power  that  it 
tinctured  his  speech. 

"Is  thy  heart  then  so  firmly  set  on  this  thing?"  he 
asked  gently. 


CANAAN  159 

"It  is  the  hope  that  bears  Israel's  burdens  and  the 
balm  that  heals  the  welt  of  the  lash." 

And  in  the  young  man's  heart  he  said  it  was  a  vain 
hope,  a  happy  delusion  that  might  serve  to  make  the 
harsh  bondage  endurable  till  time  dispelled  it.  The 
simple  words  of  the  girl  were  eloquent  portrayal  of 
Israel's  plight,  and  Kenkenes  subsided  into  a  sorry 
state  of  helpless  sympathy.  She  was  not  long  in  in- 
terpreting his  silence. 

"Vain  hope,  is  it?"  she  said.  "And  how  shall  it 
come  to  pass  in  the  face  of  the  Pharaoh's  denial  and 
the  might  of  Egypt's  arms?  Thou  art  young  and  so 
am  I,  but  both  of  us  remember  Rameses.  There  has 
been  none  like  him.  He  overthrew  the  world,  did  he 
not?  And  it  was  a  hard  task  and  a  precarious  and  a 
long  one,  when  he  but  measured  arms  with  mortals. 
Is  it  not  a  problem  worthy  the  study  to  ponder  how  he 
might  have  fared  in  battle  with  a  god?" 

Kenkenes  lifted  his  head  suddenly  and  regarded 
her. 

"Aye,"  she  continued,  "I  have  given  thee  food  for 
thought.  Futile  indeed  were  Israel's  hopes  if  it  set 
itself  unaided  against  the  Pharaoh.  But  the  God  of 
Israel  hath  appointed  His  hour  and  hath  already  de- 
scended into  fellowship  with  His  chosen  people.  He 
hath  promised  to  lead  us  forth,  and  the  Divine  respects 
a  promise.  So  a  God  against  a  Pharaoh.  Doth  it  not 
appear  to  thee,  Egyptian,  that  there  approaches  a  mar- 
velous time?" 

"Give  me  but  faith  in  the  hypothesis  and  I  shall 
say,  of  a  surety,"  he  replied. 

"Thou  hast  said.    Shall  we  not  go  on,  my  master  ?" 


160  THE  YOKE 

"I  am  Kenkenes,  the  son  of  Mentu,"  he  told  her. 

She  bent  her  head  in  acknowledgment  of  the  intro- 
duction and  moved  forward  as  if  to  climb  up  by  the 
projecting-  edges  of  the  strata.  But  he  put  a  power- 
ful arm  about  her  and  lifted  her  into  the  valley.  With 
a  light  bound  he  was  beside  her.  Ahead  of  them  was 
profound  darkness,  hedged  by  black  and  close-drawn 
walls  and  canopied  by  distant  and  unillumining  stars. 
She  resumed  her  place  behind  him  though  he  was 
moved  to  protest,  but  her  deliberate  manner  seemed 
to  demand  its  way.    So  they  continued  slowly. 

"Thou  givest  me  interest  in  the  God  of  Israel,"  he 
said,  to  reopen  the  subject.  "The  Egyptian  dwells  in 
his  gods,  but  thou  sayest  that  the  God  of  Israel  dwells 
in  Israel." 

"Even  so.  But  thou  speakest  of  Israel's  God,  even 
after  the  fashion  of  my  people.  They  are  jealous,  say- 
ing that  the  true  God  hath  but  one  love  and  that  is 
Israel.  If  they  would  think  it,  let  them,  but  He  is  the 
all-God,  of  all  the  earth,  the  One  God — thy  God  as 
well  as  mine." 

"Mine !"  Kenkenes  exclaimed. 

"Thou  hast  said." 

"Now,  by  all  things  worshipful,  this  is  news.  I 
had  ever  thought  that  our  gods  are  those  to  whom 
we  bow.  Either  thou  sayest  wrong  or  I  have  been 
remiss  in  my  devotions." 

"Nay,  listen,"  she  said  earnestly,  stepping  to  his 
side.  "Already  have  I  told  thee  of  the  captain  of  Is- 
rael. He  was  reared  among  princes  in  the  house  of 
the  Pharaoh,  and  he  is  learned  in  all  the  wisdom  of 
Egypt.  He  instructeth  the  elders  concerning  Jeho- 
vah, and  from  mouth  to  mouth  his  wisdom  traverseth 


CANAAN  161 

till  it  reacheth  the  ears  of  the  young.  This,  then,  I 
have  from  the  lips  of  Moses,  who  speaketh  naught  but 
the  truth.  In  early  times  all  on  earth  had  perished 
for  wickedness  by  the  sending  of  the  One  God,  save 
a  holy  man  and  his  three  sons.  These  men  worshiped 
the  God  of  Abraham,  who  was  the  father  of  Israel. 
One  of  the  sons  founded  thy  race,  saith  Moses,  and 
one  established  mine.  The  tribes  that  went  into  Egypt 
worshiped  the  same  God.  Lo,  is  it  not  written  in  the 
early  tombs  ?  So  Moses  testifieth,  but  if  thou  doubtest, 
go  question  thy  historians.  And  some  of  the  tribes 
called  that  God  Ra,  others,  Ptah,  and  yet  others, 
Amen.  But  in  time  they  quarreled  and  each  tribe  re- 
fused to  admit  the  identity  of  the  three-named  One 
God,  saying,  'Thy  god  sendeth  plague  and  affliction, 
and  ours  sendeth  rich  harvests  and  the  Nile  floods.' 
Did  not  the  same  God  do  each  of  these  things  in  His 
wisdom  ?  Even  so.  But  when  they  were  at  last  united 
into  one  great  people,  they  had  forgotten  the  quarrel, 
forgotten  that  in  the  beginning  they  had  worshiped 
one  God,  and  they  bowed  down  to  three  instead.  Nay, 
if  there  were  but  one  among  you  who  dared,  there  are 
loose  threads  fluttering,  which,  if  drawn,  might  un- 
ravel the  whole  fabric  of  idolatry  and  disclose  that 
which  it  hides — the  One  God — the  God  of  Abraham." 

Kenkenes  had  walked  in  silence,  looking  down  into 
the  luminous  eyes,  lost  in  wonder.  Rachel  suddenly 
realized  at  what  length  she  had  talked  and  stopped 
abruptly,  dropping  back  to  her  place  again  as  if  chid- 
den. 

"Come,"  said  Kenkenes,  noting  her  action,  "walk 
beside  me,  priestess.  I  would  hear  more  of  this.  It 
is  like  all  forbidden  things — wondrously  alluring." 


162  THE   YOKE 

"I  did  forget,"  she  answered  stubbornly.  "There 
is  nothing  more." 

Kenkenes  stopped. 

"Come,"  he  insisted.  "The  teacher  rather  precedes 
the  pupil.   At  least,  thou  shalt  walk  beside  me." 

"I  pray  thee,  let  us  go  on.  We  are  not  yet  at  the 
camp — we  have  walked  so  slowly,"  she  answered. 
At  that  moment  several  fragments  of  rock,  loosening, 
slid  down  in  the  dark  just  behind  her.  She  caught 
her  breath  and  was  beside  the  young  artist  in  an  in- 
stant.    He  laughed  in  sheer  delight. 

"Thou  hast  assembled  the  spirits  by  thy  blasphemy," 
he  said.  "And  remember,  I  must  soon  return  to  this 
haunted  place  alone." 

"Thou  canst  get  a  brand  of  fire  or  a  cudgel  at  the 
camp,"  she  said  with  some  remorse  in  her  voice,  "and 
run  for  the  river  bank."  With  that  she  resumed  her 
place  behind  him. 

Kenkenes  laughed  again.  It  gave  him  uncommon 
pleasure  to  know  that  his  model  was  concerned  for 
him.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  deliberately  drew  her 
up  to  his  side.  Not  content  with  that  he  bent  his 
arm  and  put  her  hand  under  it  and  into  his  palm,  so 
that  she  could  not  leave  him  again.  She  submitted 
reluctantly,  but  her  fingers,  lost  in  his  warm  clasp, 
were  cold  and  ill  at  ease.  He  felt  their  chill  and  re- 
leased her  to  slip  about  her  shoulders  the  light  woolen 
mantle  he  had  worn.  Her  apprehension  lest  he  take 
her  hand  again  was  so  evident  that  he  refrained, 
though  he  slackened  his  step  and  kept  with  her. 

But  she  spoke  no  more  until  they  were  beside  the 
outermost  circle  of  coals  that  had  been  a  cooking  fire 
for  the  camp.     Here  they  met  a  man,  whom,  by  his 


CANAAN  163 

superior  dress,  Kenkenes  took  to  be  the  taskmaster. 
They  were  almost  upon  him  before  he  was  seen. 

"Rachel!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Here  am  I,"  she  answered,  a  little  anxiously. 

"Thou  wast  gone  long — "  he  began. 

The  sculptor  interposed. 

"She  hath  done  me  a  service  and  it  was  my  pleasure 
to  talk  with  her,"  he  said  complacently.  "Chide  her 
not." 

The  glow  from  the  fire  lighted  the  young  man's  face, 
and  the  taskmaster,  standing  in  deep  shadow,  scanned 
it  sharply  but  did  not  answer.  Kenkenes  turned  and 
strode  away  down  the  valley. 

Rachel  snatched  a  thick  sycamore  club  which  had 
been  left  over  in  the  construction  of  the  scaffold  and 
ran  after  him.  But  the  young  sculptor  had  disap- 
peared in  the  dark. 

"Kenkenes,"  she  cried  at  last  desperately.  He 
answered  immediately. 

She  slipped  off  the  mantle. 

"This,  thy  mantle,"  she  said  when  he  approached, 
"and  this,"  thrusting  the  club  into  his  hands.  "There 
is  as  much  danger  in  the  valley  for  thee  as  for  me." 
And  like  a  shadow  she  was  gone. 

As  he  hurried  on  again  through  the  dense  gloom 
of  the  ravine,  the  young  man  thought  long  on  the 
Israelite  and  her  words.  She  had  offered  him  theories 
that  peremptorily  contradicted  the  accepted  idea 
among  Egyptians,  that  Moses  was  inspired  by  a  per- 
sonal motive  of  revenge.  The  argument  put  forth 
by  his  father  began  to  show  sundry  weaknesses.  Fur- 
thermore Rachel's  version  gave  him  a  much  coveted 
opportunity  to  slip  from  his  shoulders  the  discomfort- 


164  THE   YOKE 

ing  blame  that  had  rested  there  since  he  had  heard  that 
a  miscarried  letter  might  effect  a  national  disturb- 
ance. Much  as  the  practical  side  of  his  nature  sought 
to  decry  the  great  Hebrew's  motive,  a  sense  of  relief 
possessed  him. 

"I  fear  me,  Kenkenes,  thou  durst  not  boast  thyself 
an  embroiler  of  nations,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The 
Hebrew  prince  is  a  zealot,  and  zealots  have  no  fear 
for  their  lives.  Truly  those  Israelites  are  an  uncom- 
mon and  a  proud  people.  But,  by  Besa,  is  she  not 
beautiful !"  ' 

He  enlarged  on  this  latter  thought  at  such  exhaust- 
ive length  that  he  had  traversed  the  valley  and  field, 
found  his  boat,  crossed  the  Nile  and  was  at  home  be- 
fore he  had  made  an  end. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   COMING  OF  THE   PHARAOH 

On  the  first  day  of  February,  runners,  dusty,  breath- 
less and  excited,  passed  the  sentries  of  the  Memphian 
palace  of  Meneptah  with  the  news  that  the  Pharaoh 
was  but  a  day's  journey  from  his  capital.  They  were 
the  last  of  a  series  of  couriers  that  had  kept  the  city 
informed  of  the  king's  advance.  For  days  before, 
public  drapers  were  to  be  seen  clinging  cross-legged 
to  obelisk  and  peristyle;  moving  in  spread-eagle 
fashion,  hung  in  a  jacket  of  sail-cloth  attached  to 
cables,  across  the  fronts  of  buildings,  looping  garlands, 
besticking  banners  and  spreading  tapestries.  Scatter- 
ing sounds  of  hammer  and  saw  continued  even  through 
the  night.  The  city's  metals  were  polished,  her  streets 
were  sprinkled  and  rolled,  her  stone  wharves  scoured, 
her  landings  painted,  her  flambeaux  new-soaked  in 
pitch.  The  gardens,  the  storehouses  and  the  wine- 
lofts  felt  unusual  draft  for  the  festivities,  and  the  great 
capital  was  decked  and  scented  like  a  bride. 

Now,  on  the  eve  of  the  Pharaoh's  coming,  the 
preparations  were  complete.  The  city  was  full  of  ex- 
citement and  pleasant  expectancy.  Only  once  before 
during  the  six  years  of  Meneptah's  reign  had  such 
enthusiasm  prevailed.  When  the  Rebu  horde  de- 
scended upon  Egypt,  Meneptah  had  sent  his  generals 

l65 


166  THE   YOKE 

out  to  meet  the  invader,  but  he,  himself,  had  remained 
under  cover  in  Memphis  because  he  said  the  stars  were 
unpropitious.  And  this  was  the  son  of  Rameses  II, 
than  whom,  if  the  historians  and  the  singer  Pentaur 
say  true,  there  was  never  a  more  puissant  monarch! 
But  when  the  marauder  was  overthrown  and  routed, 
and  his  generals  turned  toward  Memphis  with  their 
captives  in  chains,  Meneptah  hastened  to  meet  them, 
decked  his  chariot  with  war  trophies  and  entered  his 
capital  in  triumph.  He  was  hailed  with  exultant 
acclaim. 

"Hail,  mighty  Pharaoh !  who  smites  with  his  glance 
and  annihilates  with  his  spear.  He  overthrew  com- 
panies alone,  and  with  his  lions  he  routed  armies. 
His  enemies  crumbled  before  him  like  men  of  clay, 
for  he  breathed  hot  coals  in  his  wrath  and  flames  in 
his  vengeance."  And  the  enthusiasm  that  inspired  the 
eulogy  was  sincere.  Meneptah  was  none  the  less 
loved  because  Memphis  understood  him.  The  Pha- 
raoh was  the  apple  of  her  eye  and  she  worshiped  him 
stubbornly. 

Now  he  was  returning  from  a  bloodless  campaign — 
one  that  neither  required  nor  brought  forth  any  gen- 
eralship— but  it  was  a  victory  and  had  been  personally 
conducted  by  Meneptah,  so  Memphis  was  preparing 
to  fall  into  paroxysms  of  delight,  little  short  of  hys- 
teria. 

An  hour  after  sunrise  on  the  day  of  the  Pharaoh's 
coming  a  gorgeous  regatta  assembled  off  the  wharves 
of  Memphis.  It  was  a  flotilla  of  the  rank  and  wealth 
of  the  capital,  with  that  of  On,  Bubastis,  Busiris,  and 
even  Mendes  and  Tanis.  The  boats  were  high-riding, 
graceful  and  finished  at  head  and  stern  with  sheaves 


THE   COMING   OF   THE    PHARAOH     167 

of  carved  lotus.  Hull  and  superstructure  were 
painted  in  gorgeous  colors  with  a  preponderance  of 
ivory  and  gold.  Masts,  rigging  and  oars  were 
wrapped  with  lotus,  roses  and  mimosa.  Sails  and 
canopies  were  brilliant  with  dyes  and  undulant  with 
fringes.  Troops  of  tiny  boys,  innocent  of  raiment, 
were  posted  about  the  sides  of  the  vessels  holding 
festoons.  Oarsmen  wore  chaplets  on  the  head  or  gar- 
lands around  the  loins,  and  half-clad  slave-girls  were 
scattered  about  with  fans  of  dyed  plumes.  Bridges 
of  boats  had  been  hastily  run  out  between  the  vessels, 
and  over  these  the  embarking  voyagers  or  visitors 
passed  in  a  stream.  On  shore  was  a  great  multitude 
and  every  advantageous  point  of  survey  was  occupied. 
And  here  were  catastrophes  and  riots,  panics  and 
love-making,  gambling  and  gossip  and  all  the  other 
things  that  mark  the  assembly  of  a  crowd.  But 
these  incidents  drew. the  attention  of  the  populace  only 
momentarily  from  the  revel  of  the  nobility  on  the  Nile. 
For  there  were  laughter  and  songs,  strumming  of  the 
lyre,  shouts,  polite  contention  and  the  drone  of  general 
conversation  among  such  numbers  that  the  sound  was 
of  great  volume. 

At  the  head  of  the  pageant  were  the  boats  of  the 
nomarch  and  the  courtiers  to  Meneptah  who  remained 
in  Memphis.  Near  the  forefront  of  these  was  the 
pleasure-boat  of  Mentu. 

Kenkenes  dropped  from  its  deck  to  the  walk  ris- 
ing and  falling  at  its  side,  and  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd  in  search  of  a  vessel  bearing  a  winged  sun 
and  the  oval  containing  the  symbols  of  On.  As  he 
passed  the  prow  of  a  tall  pleasure-boat  he  was  caught 
in  a  rope  of  flowers  let  down  from  above  and  looped 


168  THE   YOKE 

about  him  with  a  dexterous  hand.  He  turned  in  the 
pretty  fetters  and  looked  up.  Above  him  was  a  row 
of  a  dozen  little  girl-faces,  set  like  apple-blossoms 
along  the  side  of  the  vessel.  The  youngest  was  not 
over  twelve  years  of  age,  the  oldest,  fourteen.  Each 
rosy  countenance  was  rippled  with  laughter,  but  the 
sound  was  lost  in  the  great  turmoil  about  them.  In 
the  center  of  the  group,  a  pair  of  hands  put  forth  under 
the  chin  of  an  older  girl,  held  the  ends  of  the  garland 
with  a  determined  grip.  Her  eyes  were  gray,  her  hair 
was  chestnut,  her  face  very  fair.  Kenkenes  recognized 
her  with  a  sudden  warmth  about  his  heart.  The  others 
were  strangers  to  him.  A  glance  at  the  plate  on  the 
side  of  the  boat  showed  him  that  this  was  the  one  he 
sought.  Most  willingly  he  obeyed  the  insistent  sum- 
mons of  the  garland  and  permitted  himself  to  be  drawn 
to  the  barge.  There,  the  same  hands  showed  him  the 
ladder  against  the  side,  and  a  dozen  pretty  arms  were 
extended  to  haul  him  aboard  as  he  climbed. 

But  the  instant  he  planted  foot  on  the  deck  the 
lovely  rout  retreated  to  shelter  at  the  side  of  a  smiling 
woman  seated  in  the  shadow  of  fans.  Only  his  fair- 
faced  captor  stood  her  ground. 

"Hail,  Hapi,"*  she  cried,  doing  obeisance.  "Pity 
the  desert."  She  flung  wide  her  hands.  With  the 
exception  of  the  youths  at  the  oars  there  was  no  other 
man  on  the  boat. 

"Ye  may  call  me  forth,"  Kenkenes  replied,  "but  how 
shall  ye  return  me  to  my  banks?  Hither,  sweet  On," 
he  continued,  catching  the  hand  of  the  fair-faced  girl, 
"submit  first  to  submergence."     She  took  his  kisses 

♦The  inundation,  more  properly  Nilus — the  river-god. 


THE   COMING   OF   THE    PHARAOH     169 

willingly.  "This  for  Seti,  thy  lover;  this  for  Hotep, 
thy  brother,  and  this  for  me  who  am  both  in  one.  How 
thou  art  grown,  Io !" 

"But  she  hath  not  denied  thee  the  babyhood  privi- 
leges for  all  that,  Kenkenes,"  the  smiling  woman  said. 

"It  is  an  excellent  example  of  submission  she  hath 
set,  Lady  Senci,"  he  replied,  advancing  toward  the 
young  girls  about  her.     "Let  us  see  if  it  prevail." 

But  the  troop  scattered  with  little  cries  of  dismay. 

"Nay,"  he  observed,  as  he  bent  over  Senci's  hand, 
"never  were  two  maids  alike,  and  I  shall  not  strive 
to  make  them  so." 

"Thy  father  hath  most  graciously  kept  his  word  in 
sending  us  a  protector,"  Senci  continued.  "My  nose- 
gay of  beauties  drooped  last  night  when  they  arrived 
from  On  with  my  brother  sick,  aboard.  They  feared 
they  must  stop  with  me  in  Memphis  for  want  of  a 
man." 

"It  was  the  first  word  I  heard  from  my  father  this 
morning  and  the  last  when  I  left  him  even  now :  To's 
father  hath  failed  her  through  sickness,  so  do  thou 
look  after  the  Lady  Senci — and  the  gods  give  thee 
grace  for  once  to  do  a  thing  well !'  " 

The  lady  smiled  and  patted  his  arm.  "He  did  not 
fear ;  he  knew  whom  he  chose.  But  behold  our  gallant 
escort — the  nomarch  ahead,  beside  us  the  new  cup- 
bearer and  behind  us  all  the  rank  of  the  north." 

"Aye,  and  when  we  cast  off  thou  mayest  look  for 
the  new  murket  on  thy  right." 

The  lady  blushed.  "I  have  not  seen  thy  father  yet, 
this  morning." 

"So  ?     His  robes  must  fit  poorly." 

At  that  moment  a  gang-plank  was  run  across  from 


170  THE   YOKE 

the  broad  flat  stern  of  the  nomarch's  boat  to  the  prow 
of  Senci's,  a  carpet  was  spread  on  it,  and  Ta-meri,  with 
little  shrieks  and  tottering  steps,  came  across  it.  Ken- 
kenes  put  out  his  arms  to  her  and  lifted  her  down 
when  she  arrived. 

"Wonder  brought  me,"  she  cried.  "I  dreamed  I 
saw  thee  kiss  a  maiden  thrice  and  I  came  to  see  if  it 
were  true." 

"O  most  honest  vision !  It  is  true  and  this  is  she," 
Kenkenes  answered,  indicating  Io. 

Ta-meri  flung  up  her  hands  and  gazed  at  the  blush- 
ing girl  with  wide  eyes. 

"Enough,"  she  said  at  last.  "It  is  indeed  a  marvel. 
Never  have  I  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and  never 
shall  I  see  it  again." 

"And  if  that  be  true,  fie  and  for  shame,  Kenkenes," 
Senci  chid  laughingly. 

"Ta-meri  always  shuts  her  eyes,"  the  sculptor  de- 
fended himself  stoutly.  The  nomarch's  daughter 
caught  his  meaning  first  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  The  chorus  of  laughter  did  not  drown  her 
protests. 

"Kenkenes,  thou  art  a  mortal  plague!"  she  ex- 
claimed behind  her  defense. 

"Truce,"  he  said.  "Thou  didst  accuse  me  and  I  did 
defend  myself.     We  are  even." 

"Nay,  but  am  I  also  even  with  Ta-meri?"  Io  asked 
shyly. 

"Now,"  Senci  cried,  "which  of  ye  will  say  'aye'  or 
'nay'  to  that !" 

Ta-meri  retreated  protesting  to  the  prow  again,  but 
the  gang-plank  had  been  withdrawn.  An  army  of 
slaves  were  breaking  up  the  bridges  of  boats.     The 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   PHARAOH     171 

oars  of  the  nomarch's  barge  rose  and  fell  and  the 
vessel  bore  away.  Ta-meri  cried  out  again  when  she 
saw  it  depart  but  she  made  no  effort  to  stay  it. 

"Come  back,  Ta-meri,"  Io  called.  *T  shall  not  press 
thee  for  an  accounting." 

The  lanes  of  water  between  the  boats  cleared,  the 
scented  sails  filled,  the  bristling  fringes  of  oars  dipped 
and  flashed,  a  great  shout  arose  from  the  populace  on 
shore  and  the  shining  pageant  moved  away  toward 
Thebes.  The  barge  of  Nechutes  swung  into  position 
on  the  left  of  Senci — the  oars  on  Mentu's  boat  rose 
and  halted  and  the  vessel  drifted  till  it  was  alongside 
her  right.  Kenkenes  put  his  arm  about  Io,  who 
stood  beside  him  and  whispered  exultantly  or  irrever- 
ently concerning  the  vigilance  of  the  cup-bearer  and 
the  murket. 

"And,"  he  continued  oracularly,  "there  will  be  a 
third  attending  us  when  we  return,  if  thou  hast  been 
coy  with  the  gentle  Seti  during  his  long  absence." 

"Nay,  I  have  sent  him  messages  faithfully  and  in 
no  little  point  have  I  failed  him  in  constancy.  But  I 
can  not  see  why  he  should  love  me,  who  am  to  the 
court-ladies  as  a  thrush  to  peafowls.  He  writes  me 
such  praise  of  Ta-user." 

"Now,  Io!  Art  thou  so  little  versed  in  the  ways 
of  men  that  thou  dost  wonder  why  we  love  or  how  we 
love  or  whom  we  love?  The  very  fact  that  thou  art 
different  from  Seti's  surroundings  is  like  to  make  him 
love  thee  best." 

"I  am  not  jealous;  only  he  hath  so  much  to  tell  of 
Ta-user." 

"Aye,  since  she  is  like  to  become  his  sister,  it  is  not 
strange.     But  what  says  he  of  her  ?" 


172  THE   YOKE 

Io  thrust  her  hand  into  the  mist  of  gauzes  over  her 
bosom  and  with  a  soft  flush  on  her  cheeks  drew  forth 
a  small,  flattened  roll  of  linen.  Kenkenes  made  a  place 
for  her  on  his  chair  and  drew  her  down  beside  him. 
Together  the  pair  undid  the  scroll  and  Kenkenes, 
following  the  tiny  pink  finger,  came  upon  these  words  : 

"Ah,  thou  shouldst  see  her,  my  sweet.  Thou  know- 
est  she  was  born  of  a  prince  of  Egypt  and  a  lovely 
Tahennu,  and  the  mingling  of  our  dusky  blood  with 
that  of  a  fair-haired  northern  people,  hath  wrought 
a  marvelous  beauty  in  Ta-user.  Her  hair  is  like 
copper  and  like  copper  her  eyes.  There  is  no  brown- 
ness  nor  any  flush  in  her  skin.  It  is  like  thick  cream, 
smooth,  soft  and  cool.  And  when  she  walks,  she 
minds  me  of  my  grandsire's  leopardess,  which  once 
did  stride  from  shadow  to  shadow  in  the  palace  with 
that  undulatory,  unearthly  grace.  In  nature,  she  is 
world-compelling.  When  first  she  met  me,  she  took 
my  face  between  her  palms  and  gazed  into  mine  eyes. 
Ai !  she  bewitched  me,  then  and  there.  My  individu- 
ality died  within  me — I  felt  an  unreasoning  submission, 
strangely  mingled  with  aversion.  I  was  compelled — 
divorced  from  mine  own  forces,  which  vaguely  pro- 
tested from  afar.  .  .  .  And  yet,  thou  shouldst  see 
her  meet  Rameses.  He  makes  me  marvel.  He  knows — 
she  knows — aye,  all  Egypt  knows  why  she  hath  come 
to  court,  and  yet  they  meet — she  salutes  him  with  be- 
wildering grace — he  inclines  his  proud  head  with 
never  a  tremor  and  they  pass.  Or,  if  they  tarry  to  talk, 
it  is  an  awesome  sight  to  see  the  determined  encounter 
of  two  mighty  souls — tremendous  charm  against 
tremendous  resistance — and  Io,  I  know  that  they  have 
sounded   to   the   deepest   the   depth   of   each   other's 


THE   COMING   OF   THE    PHARAOH     173 

strength.     I   long  to  see  Ta-user  conquer — and  yet, 
again  I  would  not." 

Thereafter  followed  matters  which  Kenkenes  did 
not  read.  He  rolled  the  letter  and  gave  it  back  to  Io. 
The  little  girl  sat  expectantly  watching  his  face. 

"Nay,  I  would  not  take  Seti's  boyish  transports 
seriously,"  he  said  gently.  "His  very  frankness  dis- 
claims any  heart  interest  in  Ta-user.  Besides,  she  is 
as  old  as  I — three  whole  Nile-floods  older  than  the 
prince.  She  thinks  on  him  as  Senci  looks  on  me — he 
regards  her  as  a  lad  looks  up  to  gracious  womanhood. 
Nay,  fret  not,  thou  dear  jealous  child." 

Io's  lips  quivered  as  she  looked  away. 

"It  is  over  and  over — ever  the  same  in  every  letter — 
Ta-user,  Ta-user,  till  I  hate  the  name,"  she  said  at 
last. 

"Then  when  thou  seest  him  at  midday  up  the  Nile, 
be  thou  gracious  to  some  other  comely  young  nobleman 
and  see  him  wince.  Naught  is  so  good  for  a  lover  as 
uncertainty.  It  is  a  mistake  to  load  him  with  the 
great  weight  of  thy  love.  Doubt  not,  thou  shalt  carry 
all  the  burden  of  jealousy  and  pain  if  thou  dost. 
Divide  this  latter  with  him,  and  he  shall  be  content  to 
share  more  of  the  first  with  thee.  But  thou  hast 
condemned  him  without  trial,  Io.  Spare  thy  heart  the 
hurt  and  wait." 

The  young  face  cleared  and  with  a  little  sigh  she 
settled  back  in  the  chair  and  said  no  more. 

It  was  noon  when  the  royal  flotilla  was  sighted. 
There  were  nineteen  barges  approaching  in  the  form  of 
two  crescents  like  a  parenthesis,  the  horns  up  and  down 
the  Nile,  and  in  the  center  of  the  inclosed  space  was 
Meneptah's  float.     Here  was  only  the  royal  family, 


174  THE  YOKE 

the  king,  queen,  Ta-user,  and  the  two  princes,  who 
took  the  place  of  fan-bearers  in  attendance  on  their 
father.  The  vessel  was  manned  by  two  reliefs  of 
twelve  oarsmen  from  Theban  nobility. 

If  magnificence  came  to  conduct  Meneptah,  it  met 
splendor  as  its  charge.  The  pastoral  solitude  of  the 
Middle  country  was  routed  for  the  moment  by  an 
assemblage  of  the  brilliance  and  power  of  all  Egypt. 

With  a  shout  that  made  the  remote  hills  reply  again 
and  again,  the  convoy  divided,  a  half  retreating  to 
either  side  of  the  Nile  and  the  home-coming  fleet 
entered  the  hollow.  The  nomarch's  boat  detached 
itself  from  its  following  and  took  up  a  position  in  the 
center,  beside  the  royal  barge.  The  advance  was  de- 
layed only  long  enough  for  the  escort  to  turn,  take  in 
the  sails — for  they  went  against  the  wind  now — and 
form  an  outer  parenthesis.  Then  with  another  shout 
the  triumphant  return  began. 

The  other  fleet  absorbed  the  attention  of  each  voya- 
ger. Every  barge  had  a  new-comer  alongside  and 
near  enough  to  talk  across  the  water.  Therefore  a 
great  babel  and  confusion  arose  in  which  rational 
conversation  became  impossible.  Then  vessels  essayed 
to  approach  nearer  one  another  and  the  formation  be- 
gan to  break.  The  right  oars  of  one  boat  and  the  left 
of  another  would  be  withdrawn  and  the  vessels  lashed 
together.  Then  they  were  permitted  to  drift,  with 
some  poling  to  keep  them  in  the  proper  direction. 
When  this  proceeding  was  impracticable  because  of  the 
construction  of  the  barges,  one  boat  would  take  another 
in  tow  until  the  occupants  of  one  had  joined  those  of 
the  other  by  a  gang-plank  laid  from  prow  to  stern.  By 
sunset   the   merrymaking   had    developed   into   indis- 


THE   COMING   OF   THE    PHARAOH     175 

criminate  boarding.  Only  the  vessels  of  the  king  and 
the  nomarch  and  the  barge  of  Senci  were  not  involved 
in  the  uproarious  revel  that  followed.  The  fates  were 
amiable  and  no  mishaps  occurred  in  spite  of  the  reck- 
lessness of  the  pastime.  Men  and  women  alike  took 
part  in  the  play,  and  the  general  temper  of  the  merry- 
makers was  good-natured  and  innocent. 

The  dusk  fell  and  the  shadows  of  night  were  made 
seductive  by  the  dim  lamps  that  began  to  burn  from 
mast-top  and  prow.  On  the  barge  of  Senci  only  a 
single  and  subdued  light  was  swung  from  a  bronze 
tripod  in  the  bow,  and  the  fourteen  charges  of  the 
young  sculptor,  wearied  with  the  long  day's  excite- 
ment, were  disposed  in  graceful  abandon  under  its 
glow.  Senci  sat  with  Ta-meri's  head  in  her  lap,  and 
three  or  four  drowsy  little  girls  were  tumbled  about 
her  feet.  Only  Io  was  wide  awake,  and  even  her  sweet 
face  wore  a  pensive  air.  Kenkenes  had  retired  to  the 
stern,  where,  under  the  high  up-standing  end,  stood  a 
long  wooden  bench.  The  young  sculptor  had  flung 
himself  on  this,  and  with  the  whole  of  the  boat  and 
its  freight  within  range  of  his  vision,  he  listened  to  the 
riot  about  him. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  cautiously  wielded  oars 
attracted  his  attention.  In  the  end  of  the  boat  was  a 
hawser-hole,  painted  and  shaped  like  the  eye  of  Osiris. 
Kenkenes  turned  about  on  his  couch  and  watched 
through  this  aperture. 

A  barge,  judiciously  darkened,  emerged  into  the 
circle  of  faint  radiance  about  Senci's  boat.  There 
were  probably  a  dozen  Theban  nobles  of  various  ages 
grouped  in  attitudes  of  hushed  expectancy  in  the  bow. 
One  robust  peer,  with  a  boat-hook  in  his  hand,  leaned 


176  THE   YOKE 

over  the  prow.  Another,  barely  older  than  fourteen, 
had  mounted  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  steadying  him- 
self by  the  shoulder  of  a  young-  lord,  gazed  ahead  at 
the  group  in  the  bow  of  Senci's  boat. 

"By  the  horns  of  Isis,"  he  whispered  i»  disgust, 
"the  most  of  them  are  babes !" 

The  robust  noble  turned  his  head  and  jeered  good- 
naturedly  under  his  breath. 

"Mark  the  infant  sneering  at  the  buds.  But  be  of 
cheer.  One  is  there,  ripe  enough  to  sate  your  green 
appetite." 

"Nay!  do  you  distribute  them  now?  Let  me  make 
my  choice,  then." 

But  a  general  chorus  of  whispered  protests  arose. 

"Hold,  not  so  fast.  The  fan-bearer  first.  'Twas 
he  who  hit  upon  the  plan." 

The  nose  of  the  pursuing  boat  crept  alongside  the 
stern  of  the  one  pursued,  and  the  oars  rested  in 
obedience  to  a  whispered  order.  The  diagonal  current 
which  moved  out  from  the  Arabian  shore,  and  the 
backward  wash  of  water  from  the  oars  of  the  forward 
boat,  heaved  the  head  of  the  nobles'  barge  toward  its 
object.  The  robust  courtier  leaned  forward  and  made 
fast  to  his  captive  with  the  hook.  A  sigh  of  approval 
and  excitement  ran  through  the  group. 

"Gods !  how  they  will  scatter !"  the  young  lord  tit- 
tered nervously. 

"Nay,  now,  there  must  be  ao  such  thing,"  the  robust 
noble  said,  addressing  them  all.  "Mind  you,  we  but 
come  as  guests.  It  shall  be  left  to  the  ladies  to  say 
how  we  shall  abide  with  them.    Show  me  a  light." 

The  instant  brilliance  that  followed  proved  that  a 
hood  had  been  lifted  from  a  lamp.     One  of  the  men 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   PHARAOH     177 

held  a  cloak  between  it  and  the  group  on  Senci's  boat. 
Kenkenes  raised  himself.  The  lamp  discovered  to 
his  angry  eyes  the  face  of  Har-hat. 

"Now,  hold  this  hook  for  me  while  I  get  aboard," 
the  fan-bearer  chuckled. 

With  a  single  step  the  young  sculptor  crossed  to 
the  side  of  the  barge  and  wrenched  the  hook  from  the 
hands  of  the  man  that  held  it.  For  a  moment  he 
poised  it  above  him,  struggling  with  a  mighty  desire 
to  bring  it  down  on  the  head  of  the  startled  fan-bearer. 
The  youthful  lord  dropped  from  his  point  of  vantage 
and  half  of  the  group  retreated  precipitately.  Har-hat 
drew  back  slowly  and  raised  himself,  as  Kenkenes 
lowered  the  weapon.  For  a  space  the  two  regarded 
each  other  savagely.  The  contemplation  endured  only 
the  smallest  part  of  a  moment,  but  it  was  eloquent  of 
the  bitterest  mutual  antagonism.  There  was  no  re- 
laxing in  the  rigid  lines  of  the  young  sculptor's  figure, 
but  the  fan-bearer  recovered  himself  immediately. 

"Forestalled!"  he  laughed.  "Retreat!  We  would 
not  steal  another  man's  bliss  though  it  be  fourteen 
times  his  share !" 

The  oars  fell  and  the  boat  darted  back  into  the  night, 
the  affable  sound  of  Har-hat's  raillery  receding  into 
silence  with  it. 

Kenkenes  flung  the  boat-hook  into  the  Nile  and  re- 
turned to  his  bench,  puzzled  at  the  inordinate  passion 
of  hate  in  his  heart  for  the  fan-bearer. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  watch  the  flotilla  drifted  into 
Memphis.  Bonfires  so  vast  as  to  suggest  conflagra- 
tions made  the  long  water-front  as  brilliant  as  day.  Far 
up  the  slope  toward  the  city  the  red  light  discovered 
a  great  multitude,  densely  packed  and  cheering  tu- 


178  THE   YOKE 

multuously.  Amid  the  uproar  one  by  one  the  barges 
approached  and  discharged  their  occupants  along  the 
wharves.  Soldiery  in  companies  drove  a  roadway 
through  the  mass  from  time  to  time,  by  which  the 
arrivals  might  enter  Memphis,  though  few  of  these 
departed  at  once.  When  the  Lady  Senci's  barge  drew 
up,  Mentu  forced  his  way  through  the  increasing 
crowd  to  meet  and  assist  its  occupants  to  alight. 
Kenkenes,  still  on  deck,  was  handing  his  charges  down 
the  stairway  one  by  one,  when  he  saw  Io,  who  stood 
at  the  very  end  of  the  line,  lean  over  the  side, 
her  face  aglow  with  joy.  Kenkenes  guessed  the  cause 
of  her  delight  and,  deserting  his  post,  went  to  her  side. 
Below  stood  Seti,  on  tiptoe,  his  hands  upstretched 
against  the  tall  hull. 

"O,  I  can  not  reach  thee,"  he  was  crying. 

Kenkenes  caught  up  the  trembling,  blushing,  repent- 
ant girl  and  lowered  her  plump  into  the  prince's  eager 
arms. 

When  Kenkenes  saw  her  an  hour  later,  he  lifted  her 
out  of  her  curricle  before  the  portals  of  Senci's  house. 

"What  did  I  tell  thee  ?"  he  said  softly. 

But  the  little  girl  clung  to  his  arms  and  leaned 
against  him  with  a  sob. 

"O  Kenkenes,"  she  whispered,  "he  came  but  to  drag 
me  away  to  look  upon  her !" 

"Didst  go?"  he  asked. 

"Nay,"  she  answered  fiercely. 

After  a  silence  Kenkenes  spoke  again : 

"He  does  not  love  her,  Io.  Believe  me.  I  doubt 
not  the  sorceress  hath  bewitched  him,  but  he  would 
not  rush  after  a  whilom  sweetheart  to  have  her  look 
upon  a  new  one.     Rather  would  he  strive  to  cover  up 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   PHARAOH     179 

his  faithlessness.  But  he  hath  been  untrue  to  thee 
in  this — that  he  shares  a  thought  with  the  witch  when 
his  whole  mind  should  be  full  of  thee.  Bide  thy  time 
till  he  emerges  from  the  spell,  then  make  him  writhe. 
Meantime,  save  thy  tears.  Never  was  a  man  worth 
one  of  them." 

He  kissed  her  again  and  set  her  inside  Senci's  house. 

But  one  remained  now  of  the  procession  he  had 
escorted  from  the  river.  This  was  the  Lady  Ta-meri's 
litter,  and  his  own  chariot  stood  ahead  of  it.  She  had 
lifted  the  curtains  and  was  piling  the  opposite  seat 
with  cushions  in  a  manner  unmistakably  inviting.  He 
hesitated  a  moment.  Should  he  dismiss  his  charioteer 
and  journey  to  the  nomarch's  mansion  in  the  com- 
panionable luxury  of  the  litter?  But  even  while  he 
debated  with  himself,  he  passed  her  with  a  soft  word 
and  stepped  into  his  chariot. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  MARGIN  OF  THE  NILE 


Meneptah  having  come  and  the  old  regime  of  life 
resumed,  Memphis  subsided  into  her  normal  state  of 
dignity.  Mentu  remained  in  his  house  preparing  for 
his  investiture  with  the  office  of  murket.  His  hours 
were  spent  in  study,  and  the  coming  and  going  of  Ken- 
kenes  crossed  his  consciousness  as  swiftly  as  the 
shadows  wavered  under  his  young  palms.  His  son 
might  work  for  hours  near  him  on  mysterious  draw- 
ings, but  so  deep  was  the  great  artist  in  the  writings 
of  the  old  murkets  that  he  did  not  think  to  ask  him 
what  he  did.  It  might  not  have  won  his  attention 
even  had  he  seen  the  young  man  burn  the  sheets  of 
papyrus  thereafter,  and  grow  restless  and  dissatisfied. 
He  remarked,  however,  that  Kenkenes  was  absent 
during  the  noon-meal,  but  when  the  sundown  repast 
was  served  and  the  young  man  was  in  his  place,  Mentu 
had  forgotten  that  he  had  not  been  there  at  midday. 

Kenkenes  had  visited  his  niche  in  the  Arabian  desert. 
On  his  way  to  the  statue  he  came  to  the  line  of  rocks 
where  he  had  hidden  himself  to  get  Athor's  likeness, 
and  looked  down  into  the  quarry  opposite  him.  He 
was  astonished  to  see  at  the  ledge,  just  below,  a  great 
water-cart  with  three  humped  oxen  attached.  The 
water-bearers  were  grouped  about  it  and  a  Hebrew 

180 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         181 

youth  was  drawing  off  the  water  in  skins  and  jars. 
The  children  received  their  burdens  from  his  hands 
and  passed  up  the  wooden  incline  to  the  scaffold. 
There  Kenkenes  saw  that  the  incline  had  been  extended 
to  the  level  of  the  platform,  and  the  children  were  able 
to  deliver  the  hides  directly  into  the  hands  of  the 
laborers.  Then  it  occurred  to  Kenkenes  that  there  was 
not  a  woman  in  sight  about  the  quarries.  While  he 
wondered,  Rachel  emerged  from  the  windings  of  the 
valley  into  the  open  space  below. 

She  carried  a  band  of  linen  and  a  small  box  of  horn 
in  her  hand.  When  the  young  bearers  saw  her,  one 
of  them,  who  had  been  rubbing  his  eye,  came  to  her. 
She  set  her  box  upon  an  outstanding  edge  of  stone 
and  devoted  herself  to  him.  Drawing  his  head  back 
until  it  rested  against  her  bosom,  with  tender  hands 
she  dressed  the  injured  optic  with  balm  from  the  box. 

Kenkenes  from  his  aery  watched  her,  noting  with 
a  softening  countenance  the  almost  maternal  love  that 
beautified  her  face.  Now  and  then  she  spoke  sooth- 
ingly as  the  boy  flinched,  but  her  words  were  so  softly 
said  that  the  sculptor  did  not  catch  them.  The  eye 
dressed,  she  covered  it  with  the  bandage  and  the  pair 
separated.  It  was  with  some  regret  that  Kenkenes 
saw  her  turn  to  leave  the  spot.  But  at  that  moment 
the  taskmaster  rode  into  the  open  space.  She  made 
a  sign  of  salutation  and  paused  at  a  word  from  him. 
Kenkenes  fancied  that  her  face  had  sobered  and  he 
looked  down  on  the  cowled  head  and  shoulders  of  the 
overseer,  wrathfully  wondering  if  the  Egyptian  had 
played  the  master  so  harshly  that  Rachel  dreaded  him. 
Presently  the  man  dismounted;  and  though  his  back 
was    turned    toward    Kenkenes,   the   young   sculptor 


182  THE   YOKE 

knew  by  his  stature  that  he  was  not  the  soldier  who 
had  first  governed  the  quarries.  The  young  man 
watched  him  excitedly  but  there  was  no  display  of 
tyranny  or  even  authority  in  the  taskmaster's  manner. 
They  talked,  and  by  the  motion  of  the  man's  hand 
Kenkenes  fancied  that  he  described  something  grow- 
ing near  the  Nile.  Presently  they  walked  together 
toward  the  outlet  of  the  valley.  The  taskmaster 
leaped  down  the  ledge  and,  turning,  put  up  his  arms 
and  lifted  Rachel  down.  It  was  plain  that  something 
more  than  courtesy  inspired  the  act,  for  the  man's 
hands  fell  reluctantly.  Kenkenes  faced  sharply  about 
and  proceeded  up  the  hill  to  his  statue  with  a  queer 
discomfort  tugging  at  his  heart. 

That  night  in  his  effort  to  bring  forth  the  coveted 
expression  in  his  drawings  of  Athor,  Kenkenes  all 
but  satisfied  himself. 

The  next  day,  without  any  apparent  cause,  he  went 
back  to  the  niche  in  the  desert,  stayed  without  purpose, 
and  departed  when  no  tangible  reason  urged  him. 
When  the  day  declined  he  climbed  down  the  front  of 
the  hill  and  crossed  the  narrow  field  toward  his  boat, 
which  was  buried  in  the  rank  vegetation  of  the  water's 
edge.  At  the  Nile  he  noted,  a  little  distance  up  the 
river,  a  familiar  figure  among  the  reeds.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  hesitated  and  then  rambled  through  the  riot- 
ous growth  in  that  direction.  As  he  drew  near,  Rachel 
raised  herself  from  a  search  in  a  thicket  of  herbs,  her 
arms  full  of  them  and  her  face  a  little  flushed. 

"Idler !"  said  Kenkenes. 

"Nay,"  she  answered  with  a  smile,  "I  am  at  work — 
learned  work." 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         183 

"Gathering  witch-weeds  for  an  incantation,  sor- 
ceress ?" 

"Not  so.  I  am  hunting  herbs  to  make  simples  for 
the  sick." 

"Of  a  truth  ?  Then  never  before  now  have  I  craved 
for  an  illness  that  I  might  select  my  leech." 

Again  she  smiled  and  made  a  sheaf  of  the  herbs, 
preparatory  to  binding  it.  The  bundle  was  unruly, 
and  several  of  the  plants  dropped.  She  bent  to  pick 
them  up  and  others  fell.  Kenkenes  came  to  her  rescue 
and  gathered  them  all  into  his  large  grasp. 

"Now,  while  I  hold*  it,"  he  suggested. 

With  the  most  gracious  self-possession  she  smoothed 
out  the  fiber,  put  it  twice,  thrice  about  the  sheaf  and 
knotted  it,  her  fingers,  cool  and  moist  after  their  con- 
tact with  the  marsh  sedge,  touching  the  sculptor's 
more  than  once. 

"There !      I  thank  thee." 

"Are  there  any  sick  in  the  camp  ?" 

"Only  those  who  have  been  blinded  by  the  stone- 
dust.    But  I  prepare  for  sickness  during  health." 

"A  wise  provision.  Would  we  might  prepare  for 
sorrow  during  contentment." 

"We  may  lay  up  comfort  for  us  against  the  coming 
of  misfortune." 

"How?" 

"In  choosing  friends,"  she  answered. 

His  mind  went  back  to  the  scene  of  that  morning. 
Did  she  speak  of  the  taskmaster? 

"Thou  hast  found  it  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"Thou  hast  said."  She  added  no  more,  though  the 
sculptor  was  eager  for  an  example. 


184  THE   YOKE 

"How  goes  it  with  the  statue?"  she  asked,  seeing 
that  he  did  not  move  out  of  her  path. 

"Slowly,"  he  answered.  "But  it  shall  hasten  to 
completeness  when  I  once  begin." 

"What  wilt  thou  do  with  it  when  it  is  done?  De- 
stroy it  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"Leave  it  there  to  betray  thee  to  the  vengeance  of 
the  priesthood  one  day?" 

"I  have  no  fear  of  discovery." 

"Nay,  but  fear  or  unfear  never  yet  warded  off  mis- 
fortune," she  said  gravely.  "It  is  better  to  entertain 
causeless  concern  than  unwise  confidence." 

He  eagerly  accepted  this  establishment  of  equality 
between  them,  and  overshot  his  mark. 

"Advise  me,  Rachel.  What  should  I  do  ?" 

She  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  distrustfully,  won- 
dering if  he  mocked  her  and  asking  herself  if  she  had 
not  deserved  it  in  assuming  comradeship  with  him. 

"Nay,  it  is  not  my  place,  my  master,"  she  said.  "I 
did  forget." 

He  put  his  hand  on  hers  with  considerable  determi- 
nation in  his  manner. 

"Let  us  make  an  end  to  this  eternal  emphasis  of 
different  rank.  I  would  forget  it,  Rachel.  Wilt  thou 
not  permit  me?  I  am  thy  friend  and  nothing  harsher 
— above  all  things,  not  thy  master." 

Never  before  had  he  spoken  so  to  her.  She  ven- 
tured to  look  at  him  at  last.  His  face  was  grave  and  a 
little  passionate  and  his  eyes  demanded  an  answer. 

"Aye,  I  shall  gladly  be  thy  friend,"  she  answered; 
"but  never  hast  thou  been  so  much  of  a  master  as  in  the 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         185 

denial  that  thou  art."  The  first  gleam  of  girlish  mis- 
chief danced  in  her  blue  eyes.  The  young  sculptor 
noted  it  with  gladness.  He  took  the  free  hand  and 
pressed  it,  and  when  she  turned  toward  the  roadway 
through  the  wheat  he  turned  with  her  and  hand  in 
hand  they  went.    As  they  neared  it  he  spoke  again. 

"Again  would  I  ask,  when  wilt  thou  advise  me  con- 
cerning the  statue?  Here  is  my  boat.  Let  us  turn 
it  into  a  high  seat  of  council  and  I  will  sit  at  thy  feet 
and  learn." 

"Nay,  if  I  sit  I  shall  linger  too  long,  and  there  is  a 
taskmaster — albeit  a  gentle  one — waiting  with  other 
things  for  me  to  do." 

Kenkenes  kicked  the  turf  and  frowned. 

"It  sounds  barbarous — this  talk  of  master  upon  thy 
lips,  Rachel..   Thou  art  out  of  thy  place,"  he  answered. 

"I  am  no  more  worthy  of  freedom  than  my  people," 
she  replied  with  dignity. 

"Thy  people!  They  should  be  lawgivers  and  ad- 
visers among  Egypt's  high  places,  rather  than  brick- 
makers  and  quarry-slaves,  if  thou  art  a  typical  Israel- 
ite." 

"Aye !"  she  exclaimed,  "and  thou  hast  given  tongue 
to  the  same  estimate  of  Israel,  which  hath  wrought 
consternation  among  the  powers  of  Mizraim.  And  for 
that  reason  are  we  enslaved.  Think  of  it,  thou  who 
art  unafraid  to  think.  Think  of  a  people  in  bondage 
because  of  its  numbers,  its  sturdiness  and  its  wisdom. 
Thou  who  art  in  rebellion  against  ancient  law  dost  feel 
somewhat  of  Israel's  hurt.  Behold,  am  I  not  also 
oppressed  because  I  may  think  to  the  upsetting  of  idol- 
atry and  the  overthrow  of  mine  oppressors?     Thou 


186  THE   YOKE 

and  I  are  fellows  in  bondage;  but  mark  me!  I  am 
nearer  freedom  than  thou.  The  Pharaohs  began  too 
late.    Ye  may  not  dam  the  Nile  at  flood-tide." 

Her  face  was  full  of  triumph  and  her  voice  of 
prophecy.  She  seemed  to  declare  with  authority  the 
freedom  of  her  people.  Kenkenes  did  not  speak  im- 
mediately. His  thoughts  were  undergoing  a  change. 
The  pity  he  had  felt  that  night  a  month  agone  for  her 
sanguine  anticipation  of  freedom  seemed  useless  and 
wasted.  Her  confidence  was  no  longer  fatuous.  He 
admitted  in  entirety  the  truth  of  her  last  words.  If 
all  Israel — nay,  if  but  part,  if  but  its  leaders  were  as 
able  and  determined  as  she,  did  Meneptah  guess  his 
peril  ?  Was  not  Egypt  most  ominously  menaced  ?  He 
remembered  that  he  had  been  amused  at  his  father's 
perturbation  over  the  Israelitish  unrest,  hut  he  vindi- 
cated Mentu  then  and  there.  Furthermore,  if  all  Israel 
were  like  unto  her,  what  heinous  injustice  had  been 
perpetrated  upon  an  able  people?  He  found  himself 
hoping  that  they  would  assert  themselves  and  enter 
freedom,  whether  it  be  in  Canaan  or  in  Egypt. 

"If  ever  Israel  come  to  her  own,"  he  said  impulsive- 
ly, "I  pray  thee,  Rachel,  remember  me  to  her  powers 
as  her  partizan  in  her  darker  days.  And  take  this  into 
account  when  thou  comest  to  judge  Egypt.  The  half 
of  the  nation  know  not  thy  people,  even  as  I  have  been 
ignorant ;  and  Osiris  pity  the  hand  that  would  oppress 
them  if  all  Egypt  is  made  acquainted  with  them  as  I 
have  been  in  these  past  days.  Art  thou  indeed  typical 
of  thy  race  ?" 

"Hast  thou  not  been  among  us  often  enough  to  dis- 
cover?" she  parried  smilingly. 

He  shook  his  head.    "Nay,  I  have  known  but  one 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         187 

Israelite,  and  she  keeps  me  perpetually  aghast  at 
Egypt." 

Rachel's  eyes  fell. 

"We  did  speak  of  the  statue,"  she  began. 

"O,  aye!  I  meant  to  tell  thee  how  I  had  fortified 
myself  against  mischance.  I  can  not  break  up  the 
statue ;  sooner  would  I  assail  sweet  flesh  with  a  sledge ; 
but  when  it  is  done  I  shall  bury  it  in  the  sands.  It 
will  wrench  me  sorely  to  do  even  that.  During  the 
carving  I  feel  most  secure,  for  Memphis  and  Masaarah 
think  I  come  hither  to  look  after  the  removal  of  stones, 
since  I  am  a  sculptor.  But  if  an  Egyptian  should  come 
upon  it  by  mischance  before  it  is  complete,  I  have  left 
no  trace  of  myself  upon  it.  Most  of  all  I  trust  to  the 
generosity  of  the  Hathors,  who  have  abetted  me  so 
openly  thus  far." 

Rachel  heard  him  thoughtfully. 

"What  a  pity  it  is  that  thou  must  follow  after  the 
pattern  of  God  and  sate  thy  love  of  beauty  by  stealth 
under  ban  and  in  fear.  Till  what  time  Mizraim  sets 
this  law  of  sculpture  aside  she  may  not  boast  her  wis- 
dom flawless.  It  is  past  understanding  why  she  ex- 
acts obedience  to  this  law  most  diligently,  which  fath- 
ers these  ill-favored  images  of  her  gods,  when  their 
habitations  are  most  splendidly  and  most  beautifully 
built.  She  robeth  herself  in  fine  linen,  decketh  herself 
with  jewels,  anointeth  her  hair  and  maketh  her  eyes 
lovely  with  kohl,  and  lo !  when  she  would  picture  her- 
self she  setteth  her  shoulders  awry  and  slighteth  the 
grace  of  her  joints  and  the  softness  of  her  flesh.  O, 
that  thy  brave  spirit  had  arisen  long  ago,  ere  the  per- 
version had  become  a  heritage,  dear  to  the  Egyptian 
sculptor  as  his  bones !    But  now,  artist  though  he  be, 


188  THE   YOKE      , 

his  eye  is  so  befilmed  by  ancient  use  that  he  sees  no 
monstrousness  in  his  work.  So  thou  hast  nation-wide, 
nation-old,  nation-defended  custom  to  fight.  And  alas ! 
thou  art  but  one,  Kenkenes,  and  I  fear  for  thee." 

For  once  the  young  sculptor's  ready  speech  failed 
him.  He  drew  near  her,  his  eyes  shining,  his  lips 
parted,  drinking  every  word  as  if  it  were  authoritative 
privilege  for  him  to  indulge  his  love  of  beauty  without 
limit  and  openly.  Here  was  that  which  he  had  sought 
in  vain  from  those  nearest  to  him — that  which  he  had 
ceased  to  believe  was  to  be  found  in  Egypt — comfort, 
sympathy,  perfect  understanding.  What  if  it  came 
from  the  lips  of  an  hereditary  slave  of  the  Pharaoh — 
a  toiler  in  the  quarries,  an  infidel,  an  alien  nomad? 
If  an  alien,  a  slave,  an  unbeliever  thought  so  deeply, 
felt  so  acutely  and  responded  so  discerningly  to  such 
delicate  requirements — the  slave,  the  nomad  for  him ! 

"Rachel,"  he  began  almost  helplessly,  "I  am  beyond 
extrication  in  debt  to  thee — thou  golden,  thou  unde- 
cipherable mystery!" 

She  flushed  to  her  very  brows  and  her  eyes  fell 
quickly. 

"I  haye  appealed  to  all  sources  from  which  I  might 
justly  expect  sympathy — to  men  of  reason,  of  power, 
of  mine  own  kin,  and  to  women  of  heart — and  not 
once  have  I  found  in  them  the  broad  and  kindly  un- 
derstanding which  thou  hast  displayed  for  me  out  of 
the  goodness  of  thy  beautiful  heart.  Behold !  thou 
hast  given  speech  to  my  own  hidden  longings,  sum- 
marized my  difficulties,  foreshadowed  my  misfortunes, 
deplored  them — aye,  of  a  truth,  heaved  my  very 
sighs  for  me !"  His  voice  fell  and  grew  reverent.  "I 
would  call  thee  an  immortal,  but  there  is  a  better  title 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         189 

for  thee — woman — a  true  woman — and  thou  dost  even 
uplift  the  name." 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  their  acquaint- 
ance she  laughed,  not  mirthfully,  but  low  and  very  hap- 
pily, and  the  fleeting  glimpse  she  gave  him  of  her  eyes 
showed  them  radiant  and  glad.  He  caught  her  hands, 
the  bundle  of  herbs  fell,  and  drawing  her  near  him,  he 
lifted  the  pink  palms  to  his  lips  and  pressed  them  there. 

"Nay,"  she  said,  recovering  herself  and  withdraw- 
ing her  hands,  "I  am  not  an  Egyptian  but  a  Hebrew, 
unbiased  by  the  prejudices  of  thy  nation.  It  is  not 
strange  that  I  can  understand  thy  rebellion,  which  is 
but  a  rift  in  thine  Egyptian  make-up  through  which 
reason  shows.  Any  alien  could  comfort  thee  as  well." 

"And  thou  hast  no  more  sympathy  for  me  than  any 
alien  would  have?"  he  asked,  somewhat  piqued. 

"Is  there  any  other  sympathizing  alien  with  whom 
I  may  compare  and  learn  ?"  she  asked  with  a  smile. 

She  took  up  her  bundle  of  herbs  again  and  seemed 
to  be  preparing  to  leave  him. 

"How  dost  thou  know  these  things,"  he  asked  hur- 
riedly ;  "all  these  things — sculpture,  religion,  history  ?" 

"I  was  not  born  a  slave,"  she  answered  simply. 

"Nay,  cast  out  that  word.  I  would  never  hear  thee 
speak  it,  Rachel." 

"Then,  I  was  born  out  of  servitude.  My  great 
grandsire  was  exempted  by  Seti  when  Israel  went  into 
bondage.  His  children  and  all  his  house  were  given 
to  profit  by  the  covenant.  But  the  name  grew  wealthy 
and  powerful  to  the  third  generation.  My  father  was 
Maai  the  Compassionate,  who  loved  his  brethren  bet- 
ter than  himself.  Them  he  helped.  Rameses  the 
Great  forgot  his  father's  promise  when  he  found  he 


190  THE   YOKE 

had  need  of  my  father's  treasure — "  she  paused  and 
continued  as  if  the  recital  hurt  her.  "There  were  ten 
— four  of  my  mother's  house,  six  of  my  father's.  To 
the  mines  and  the  brick-fields  they  were  sent,  and  in  a 
little  space  I  was  all  that  was  left." 

Horrified  and  conscience-stricken,  Kenkenes  made 
as  if  to  speak,  but  she  went  on  hurriedly. 

"My  mother's  nurse,  Deborah,  who  went  with  us 
into  servitude,  is  learned,  having-  been  taught  by  my 
mother,  and  I  have  been  her  pupil." 

"And  there  is  not  one  of  thy  blood — not  one  guard- 
ian kinsman  left  to  thee?"  Kenkenes  asked  slowly. 

"Not  one." 

Up  to  this  moment,  during  every  interview  with 
Rachel,  Kenkenes  had  forsworn  some  little  prejudice, 
or  sacrificed  some  of  his  blithe  self-esteem.  But  the 
tragic  narrative  swept  all  these  supports  from  him  and 
left  him  solitary  to  face  the  charge  of  indirect  complic- 
ity in  murder.  He  was  an  Egyptian — a  loyal  sup- 
porter of  the  government  and  its  policies;  he  had 
profited  by  Israel's  toil,  and  if  he  succeeded  to  his 
father's  office,  Israel  would  serve  him  directly  in  his 
labor  for  the  Pharaoh  to  be.  He  had  known  that  Israel 
was  oppressed,  that  Israel  died  of  hard  labor,  and  he 
had  pitied  it,  as  the  humane  soul  in  him  had  felt  for 
the  overworked  draft-oxen  or  the  sacrifices  that  were 
led  bleating  to  the  altars.  Perhaps  he  had  even  cas- 
ually decried  the  policy  that  sent  women  into  the  brick- 
fields and  did  men  to  death  in  a  year  in  the  mines. 
But  his  own  conscience  had  not  been  hurt,  nor  -had  he 
taken  the  misdeed  home  to  himself. 

Now  his  sensations  were  vastly  different.  He  felt 
all  the  guilt  of  his  nation,  and  he  had  nothing  to  offer 


THE    MARGIN    OF   THE    NILE         191 

as  amends  but  his  own  humiliation.  Of  this  he  had  an 
overwhelming  plenitude  and  his  eloquent  face  showed 
it.  With  an  effort  he  raised  his  head  and  spoke. 

"Rachel,  if  my  humiliation  will  satisfy  thee  even  a 
little  as  vengeance  upon  Egypt,  do  thou  shame  me  into 
the  dust  if  thou  wilt." 

"I  do  not  understand  thee,"  she  said  with  dignity. 

"Believe  me.  I  would  help  thee  in  some  wise,  and 
alas!  there  is  no  other  way  by  deed  or  word  that  I 
could  prove  my  sorrow." 

Tears  leaped  into  her  eyes. 

"Nay!  Nay!"  she  exclaimed.  "Thou  dost  wrong 
me,  Kenkenes.  What  wickedness  were  mine  to  make 
the  one  contrite,  guiltless  heart  in  Egypt  suffer  for 
all  the  unrepentant  and  the  wrong-doers  of  the  land !" 

Once  again  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  because 
the  act  was  more  eloquent  than  words  at  that  moment. 

"It  is  near  sunset,"  she  said  softly,  "give  me  leave 
to  depart." 

"Farewell,  and  the  divine  Mother  attend  thee." 

She  bowed  and  left  him. 

That  night  in  the  dim  work-room  Kenkenes  brought 
forth  upon  papyrus  a  face  of  Athor,  so  full  of  love  and 
yearning  that  he  knew  his  own  heart  had  given  his 
fingers  direction  and  inspiration.  He  sought  no  fur- 
ther.' 

To-morrow  in  the  niche  in  the  desert  he  would 
carve  the  want  of  his  own  soul  in  the  countenance  of 
the  goddess. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE   GODS    OF    EGYPT 


It  was  Kenkenes'  first  love  and  so  was  most  raptur- 
ous, but  it  did  not  cast  a  glamour  over  the  stern  per- 
plexities that  it  entailed.  He  knew  the  suspense  that 
is  immemorial  among  lovers,  and  further  to  trouble 
him  he  had  the  harsh  obstacle  of  different  society. 
Rachel  was  a  quarry-slave,  a  member  of  the  lowest 
rank  in  the  Egyptian  scale  of  classes.  She  was  an 
Israelite,  an  infidel  and  a  reviler  of  the  gods. 

He  was  a  descendant  of  kings,  a  devout  Osirian  and 
welcomed  in  Egypt's  high  places. 

Never  could  extremes  have  been  greater.  But  Ken- 
kenes would  not  have  given  any  of  these  obstacles  a 
moment's  consideration  had  not  the  weight  of  their 
neglect  fallen  on  the  shoulders  of  Rachel.  If  he  had 
been  a  sovereign  he  could  have  taken  her  freely,  and 
purple-wearing  Egypt  would  have  kissed  her  sandal ; 
but  he  occupied  a  place  that  could  provide  with  honor 
only  him  who  was  born  to  it. 

To  lift  Rachel  to  that  position  would  be  to  expose 
her  to  the  affronts  of  an  undemocratic  society.  On 
the  other  hand  he  might  sacrifice  name  and  station  and 
go  down  to  her ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  judged  harshly 
because  he  hesitated  at  this  step. 

Rachel  had  given  him  no  sign  of  preference  beyond 
192 


THE   GODS    OF   EGYPT  193 

a  pretty  fellowship.  In  the  beginning  this  realization 
had  hurt  him,  but  as  he  tossed  night  after  night, 
troubled  beyond  expression,  he  remembered  this  thing 
with  some  melancholy  comfort.  It  was  a  sorry  solu- 
tion of  his  problem  to  feel  that  he  was  unloved,  and 
even  while  he  recognized  its  efficacy,  he  prayed  that  it 
might  not  be  so. 

His  heavy  heart  did  not  retard  the  progress  of  his 
statue  or  make  its  beauty  indifferent.  The  more  he 
suffered  the  greater  the  passion  in  the  face.  He  la- 
bored daily  and  tirelessly. 

But  day  by  day  he  looked,  unseen,  on  his  love  in  the 
valley,  and  the  oftener  he  looked  the  more  irresolute  he 
grew.  The  conflict  between  his  heart  and  his  reason 
was  gradually  shifting  in  favor  of  his  love. 

His  longing,  as  it  continued  to  crave,  grew  from 
hunger  to  starving,  and  though  his  reason  pointed  to 
disastrous  results,  his  heart  justified  itself  in  the  blind 
cry,  "Rachel,  Rachel !" 

He  had  endured  a  month  before  his  fortitude  suc- 
cumbed entirely.  Once  near  sunset,  as  Rachel  was 
proceeding  toward  the  camp  from  some  helpful  mis- 
sion to  the  quarries,  she  caught  the  fragments  of  a 
song,  so  distantly  and  absently  sung  that  she  could  not 
locate  it.  There  were  singers  among  the  Israelites, 
but  they  sang  with  wild  exultation  and  more  care  for 
the  sense  than  the  melody.  They  had  cultivated  the 
chant  and  forgotten  the  lyric,  because  they  had  more 
heart  for  prophecy  than  passion.  Rachel  had  revered 
her  people's  song,  but  there  was  something  in  this  half- 
heard  music  that  touched  her  youth  and  her  love  of 
life.    She  stopped  to  hear  it  well. 

It  had  all  the  power  and  profundity  of  the  male 


194  THE   YOKE 

voice,  but  it  was  as  subdued,  as  flawless  and  sympa- 
thetic as  a  distant,  deep-toned  bell.  There  was  not 
even  a  breath  of  effort  in  it,  nor  an  insincere  expres- 
sion, and  it  pursued  a  theme  of  little  range  and  much 
simplicity.  The  singer  sang  as  spontaneously  as  a  bird 
sings.  She  did  not  catch  the  words,  but  something 
in  the  fervor  of  the  music  told  her  it  was  a  song  of  love 
— and  a  song  of  love  unsatisfied.  There  was  a  pathos 
in  it  that  touched  the  fountain  of  her  tears  and  awoke 
to  willingness  that  impulse  in  her  womanhood  that 
longs  to  comfort. 

As  she  stood  in  an  attitude  of  rapt  attention,  Ken- 
kenes  rounded  a  curve  in  the  valley  just  ahead  of  her. 
The  song  died  suddenly  on  his  lips  and  the  color  deep- 
ened in  his  cheeks. 

"Fie !"  he  exclaimed.  "Here  thou  art,  O  Athor, 
catching  me  in  the  imperfection  of  my  practice.  Now 
will  the  keen  edge  of  their  perfect  beauty  be  dulled 
upon  thine  ear  when  I  come  to  lift  my  tuneful  devo- 
tions to  thee." 

"And  it  was  thou  singing?"  she  asked. 

"It  was  I — and  Pentaur;  mine  the  voice;  Pentaur's 
the  song." 

"Together  ye  have  wrought  an  eloquent  harmony, 
but  such  a  voice  as  thine  would  gild  the  pale  effort  of 
the  poorest  words,"  she  said  earnestly.  "What  dost 
thou  with  thy  voice  ?" 

"Once  I  won  me  a  pretty  compliment  with  it,"  he 
said  softly,  bending  his  head  to  look  at  her.  She 
flushed  and  her  eyes  fell. 

"Nay,  it  is  but  my  pastime  and  at  the  command,  of 
my  friends,"  he  continued.  "See.  This  is  what  has 
made  me  sing." 


THE    GODS    OF   EGYPT  195 

He  unslung  his  wallet  and  took  out  of  it  a  statuette 
of  creamy  chalk. 

"Thus  far  has  the  Athor  of  the  hills  progressed." 
He  put  it  into  her  hands  for  examination.  The  face 
was  complete,  the  minute  features  as  perfect  as  life, 
the  plaits  of  long  hair  and  all  the  figure  exquisitely 
copied  and  shaped.  The  pedestal  was  yet  in  rough 
block.  Rachel  inspected  it,  wondering.  Finally  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  praise  in  her  eyes. 

"Dost  thou  forgive  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  for  me  to  ask  thy  forgiveness,"  she  answered. 
"So  we  be  equally  indebted  and  therefore  not  in  debt." 

"Not  so.  I  know  the  joy  of  creating  uncramped, 
and  the  joy  of  copying  such  a  model  far  outweighs  any 
small  delight  thy  little  vanity  may  have  experienced. 
Thy  vanity  ?    Hast  thou  any  vanity  ?" 

"Nay,  I  trust  not,"  she  replied  laughingly.  "Vanity 
is  self-esteem  run  to  seed." 

"Sage!  Let  me  make  haste  to  carve  the  pedestal 
that  I  may  know  how  low,  to  do  obeisance  to  wisdom. 
Hold  it  so,  I  pray; thee." 

He  took  the  statue  and  set  it  on  a  flat  cornice  jutting 
from  the  stone  wall.  Rachel  obediently  steadied  it. 
He  selected  from  his  tools  a  knife  with  a  rounded  point 
of  wonderful  keenness  and  smoothed  away  the  chalk 
in  bulk.  They  stood  close  together,  the  sculptor  bend- 
ing from  his  commanding  height  to  work.  From  time 
to  time  he  shifted  his  position,  touching  her  hand  often 
and  saying  little. 

The  pedestal  given  shape,  he  began  its  elaboration. 
Pattern  after  pattern  of  graceful  foliation  emerged  till 
the  design  assumed  the  intricate  complexity  of  the 
Egyptic  style. 


196  THE   YOKE 

Rachel  watched  with  absorbed  interest,  her  head  un- 
consciously settling  to  one  side  in  critical  contempla- 
tion. Kenkenes,  pressing  the  blade  firmly  upon  the 
chalk,  felt  her  cheek  touch  his  shoulder  for  a  fraction 
of  a  second ;  his  fingers  lost  their  steadiness  and  direc- 
tion, but  not  their  strength ;  the  blade  slipped,  and  the 
fierce  edge  struck  the  white  hand  that  held  the  stat- 
uette. 

With  a  cry  he  dropped  the  knife,  flung  one  arm 
about  her  and  drew  her  very  close  to  him.  The  image 
toppled  down  and  was  broken  on  the  rock  below,  but 
he  saw  only  the  fine  scarlet  thread  on  the  soft  flesh. 

Again  and  again  he  pressed  the  wounded  hand  to 
his  lips,  his  eyes  dimmed  with  tears  of  compunction. 

"O,  Rachel,  Rachel!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  passionate  contrition.  "Must  even  the  most 
loving  hand  in  Egypt  be  lifted  against  thee  ?" 

Th*e  great  content  on  the  glorified  face  against  his 
breast  was  all  the  expression  of  pardon  that  he  asked. 

"My  love!  My  Rachel!"  he  whispered.  "Ah,  ye 
generous  gods !  indulge  me  still  further.  Let  this, 
your  richest  gift,  be  mine." 

The  gods ! 

Stunned  and  only  realizing  that  she  must  undo  his 
clasp,  she  freed  herself  and  retreated  a  little  space 
from  him. 

And  then  she  remembered. 

Slowly  and  relentlessly  it  came  home  to  her  that  this 
was  one  of  the  abominable  idolaters,  and  she  had  for- 
sworn such  for  ever.  These  very  arms  that  had  held 
her  so  shelteringly  had  been  lifted  in  supplication  to 
the  idols,  and  the  lips,  whose  kiss  she  had  awaited, 
would  swear  to  love  her,  by  an  image.     The  pitiless 


THE   GODS    OF   EGYPT  197 

truth,  once  admitted,  smote  her  cruelly.  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

Kenkenes,  amazed  and  deeply  moved,  went  to  her 
immediately. 

"What  have  I  said?"  he  begged.  "What  have  I 
done?" 

What  had  he  done,  indeed?  But  to  have  spoken, 
though  to  explain,  would  have  meant  capitulation. 
She  wavered  a  moment,  and  then  turning  away,  fled 
up  the  valley  toward  the  camp — not  from  him,  but 
from  herself. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE   ADVICE  OF    HOTEP 


If  Mentu,  looking  up  from  the  old  murkets,  noted 
that  the  face  of  his  son  was  weary  and  sad,  he  laid  it 
to  the  sudden  heat  of  the  spring;  for  now  it  was  the 
middle  of  March  and  Ra  had  grown  ardent  and  the 
marshes  malarious.  The  old  housekeeper,  to  whom 
the  great  artist  mentioned  his  son's  indisposition, 
glanced  sharply  at  the  young  master,  touched  his  hand 
when  she  served  him  at  table,  and  felt  his  forehead 
when  she  pretended  to  smooth  his  hair.  And  having 
made  her  furtive  examination,  the  astute  old  servant 
told  the  great  artist  that  the  young  master  was  not 
ill.  If  she  had  further  information  to  impart,  Mentu 
did  not  give  her  the  opportunity,  for  had  she  not  said 
that  Kenkenes  was  well?  So  he  fell  to  his  work 
again. 

Senci  noted  it,  and  sorrowful  Io,  but  they,  like 
Mentu,  ascribed  it  to  the  miasmas  and  said  nothing  to 
the  young  man  about  himself. 

But  Hotep  was  a  penetrative  man,  and  more  hidden 
things  than  his  friend's  ailment  had  been  an  open 
secret  to  his  keen  eye.  He  did  not  care  to  know  which 
one  of  the  butterflies  was  the  fluttering  object  of 
Kenkenes'  bounteous  love,  for  Hotep  knew  that  those 
high-born  Memphian  women,  who  were  openly  partial 

198 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  199 

to  the  handsome  young  sculptor,  loved  him  for  his 
comeliness  and  his  silken  tongue  alone.  It  would  take 
a  profounder  soul  than  any  they  had  displayed  to 
understand  and  sympathize  with  the  restive  genius 
hidden  under  the  smooth  exterior  they  saw. 

Therefore,  with  some  impatience,  Hotep  conceded 
that  his  friend  was  in  love,  and  presumably  throwing 
himself  away.  So  the  scribe  purposed,  even  though 
the  attempt  were  inevitably  fruitless,  to  win  Kenkenes 
out  of  his  dream. 

One  faint  dawn  he  entered  the  temple  to  pray  for 
his  own  cause  at  the  shrine  of  the  lovers'  goddess. 

In  the  half-night  of  the  vast  interior,  at  the  foot  of 
the  sumptuous  pedestal  of  Athor,  he  distinguished 
another  supplicant,  kneeling.  But  there  was  a  hope- 
lessness in  the  droop  of  the  bowed  head  and  a  tenseness 
in  the  interlaced  fingers  of  the  clasped  hands,  which 
proved  that  Athor's  answer  had  not  been  propitious. 

Hotep  knew  at  once  who  besought  the  goddess.  Set- 
ting his  offering  of  silver  and  crystal  on  the  altar,  the 
scribe  departed  with  silent  step.  But  without,  he 
ground  his  teeth  and  execrated  the  giver  of  pain  to 
Kenkenes. 

In  mid-afternoon  of  the  same  day  Hotep's  chariot 
drew  up  at  the  portals  of  Mentu's  house,  and  the 
scribe  in  his  most  splendid  raiment  was  conducted  to 
Kenkenes.  The  young  sculptor  was  alone. 

"What  was  it,  a  palsy  or  the  sun  which  kept  thee  at 
home  this  day?"  was  Hotep's  greeting.  "Nine  is  a 
mystic  number  and  is  fruitful  of  much  gain.  Eight 
times  within  a  month  have  I  come  for  thee.  The  ninth 
did  supply  thee.    Blessed  be  the  number." 

Kenkenes  smiled.     "But  there  are  seven  Hathors, 


200  THE   YOKE 

and  five  days  in  the  epact — and  the  Radiant  Three.  To 
me  it  seemeth  there  are  many  good  numbers." 

Hotep  plucked  his  sleeve. 

"Come,  I  will  show  thee  the  best  of  all — One,  the 
One." 

Kenkenes  arose.  "Let  me  robe  myself  befittingly, 
then." 

"Not  too  effectively,"  the  scribe  cried  after  him.  "I 
would  not  have  thee  blight  my  chances  with  the  full 
blaze  of  thy  beauty." 

When  Kenkenes  returned  Hotep  looked  at  him  with 
another  thought  than  had  been  uppermost  in  his  mind 
since  he  had  noted  his  friend's  dejection.  This  time 
he  was  impatient  with  Kenkenes. 

"And  such  a  man  as  this  will  permit  a  woman  to 
break  his  heart !" 

Then  was  the  young  sculptor  taken  to  the  palace  of 
the  Pharaoh.  On  its  roof,  in  the  great  square  shadow 
of  its  double  towers,  he  was  presented  to  a  dainty  little 
lady,  whose  black  eyes  grew  large  and  luminous  at  the 
coming  of  the  scribe.  She  was  Masanath,  the  young- 
est and  only  unwedded  child  of  Har-hat,  the  king's 
adviser.  Her  oval  face  had  a  uniform  rose-leaf  flush, 
her  little  nose  was  distinctly  aquiline,  her  little  mouth 
warm  and  ripe.  Her  teeth  were  dazzlingly  white,  and, 
like  a  baby's,  notched  on  the  edges  with  minute  serra- 
tions. But  with  all  her  tininess,  she  planted  her  sandal 
with  decision  and  scrutinized  whosoever  addressed  her 
in  a  way  that  was  eloquent  of  a  force  and  perception 
larger  by  far  than  the  lady  they  characterized. 

And  this  was  the  love  of  Hotep.  Kenkenes  smiled. 
The  top  of  her  pretty  head  was  not  nearly  on  a  level 
with  his  shoulders,  and  the  small  hand  she  extended 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  201 

had  the  determined  grip  with  which  a  baby  seizes  a 
proffered  ringer.  A  vision  of  the  golden  Israelite  rose 
beside  her  and  the  smile  vanished. 

The  day  was  warm  and  the  courtiers  in  search  of  a 
breeze  were  scattered  about  the  palace-top  in  pictur- 
esque groups.  Masanath  occupied  a  diphros,  or  dou- 
ble chair,  and  a  female  attendant,  standing  behind  her, 
stirred  the  warm  air  with  a  perfumed  fan.  The  lady 
was.  on  the  point  of  sharing  her  seat  with  one  of  her 
guests,  when  Har-hat,  who  had  been  lounging  by  him- 
self on  the  parapet,  sauntered  over  to  his  daughter's 
side. 

"My  father,"  she  said,  "the  son  of  Mentu,  the  first 
friend  of  the  noble  Hotep." 

Kenkenes  had  noticed,  with  a  chill,  the  approach  of 
the  fan-bearer,  and,  angry  with  himself  for  his  unrea- 
soning perturbation,  strove  to  greet  him  composedly. 
But  he  could  not  force  himself  into  graciousness.  The 
formal  obeisance  might  have  been  made  appropriately 
to  his  bitterest  enemy. 

"The  son  of  Mentu  and  I  have  met  before,"  the  fan- 
bearer  declared  laughingly.  "But  I  scarce  should  have 
recognized  him  in  this  man  of  peace  had  not  his  stature 
been  impressed  upon  me  in  that  hour  when  first  I  met 
him."  The  fan-bearer  paused  to  enjoy  the  wonder  of 
his  daughter  and  the  scribe,  and  the  hardening  face  of 
Kenkenes. 

"But  for  the  agility  the  gods  have  seen  fit  to  leave 
me  in  mine  advancing  years,"  he  continued,  "this  self- 
same courteous  noble  would  have  brained  me  with  a 
boat-hook  on  an  occasion  of  much  merrymaking,  a 
month  agone." 

He  sat  down  on  the  arm  of  Masanath's  chair  and 


202  THE   YOKE 

shouted  with  laughter.  With  a  great  effort  Kenkenes 
controlled  himself. 

"Shall  I  give  the  story  in  full?"  he  asked  with  an 
odd  quiet  in  his  voice. 

"Nay!  Nay!"  Har-hat  protested;  "I  have  told  the 
worst  I  would  have  said  concerning  that  defeat  of 
mine."  Again  he  laughed  and  returned  to  the  young 
man's  identity  once  more. 

"Aye,  I  might  have  known  that  thou  wast  somewhat 
of  kin  to  Mentu.  Ye  are  as  much  alike  as  two  owlets 
— same  candid  face." 

He  sauntered  away,  leaving  an  awkward  silence  be- 
hind him. 

"Sit  beside  me  ?"  asked  Masanath,  drawing  the  folds 
of  her  white  robes  aside  to  make  room  for  the  scribe. 
But  Hotep  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Instead,  he  wandered 
away  for  another  chair,  became  interested  in  a  group 
of  long-eyed  beauties  near  by  and  apparently  forgot 
Masanath.  Kenkenes  did  not  permit  any  lapse  be- 
tween the  invitation  and  its  acceptance.  He  dropped 
into  the  place  made  for  Hotep,  as  if  the  offer  had  been 
extended  to  him. 

"From  Bubastis  to  Memphis,  from  Bast  to  Ptah," 
he  said.  "Dost  thou  miss  the  generous  levels  of  the 
Delta  in  our  crevice  between  the  hills  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Memphis  is  the  lure  of  all 
Egypt,  and  he  who  hath  been  transplanted  to  her  woulcl 
flout  the  favor  of  the  gods,  did  he  make  homesick  moan 
for  his  native  city." 

"And  thou  hast  warmer  regard  for  the  stir  of  Mem- 
phis than  the  quiet  of  the  north  ?" 

"There  is  no  quiet  in  the  north  now." 

"So?" 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  203 

"Nay ;  hast  thou  not  heard  of  the  Israelitish  unrest  ?" 

"Aye,  I  had  heard — but — but  hath  it  become  of  any 
import  ?" 

"It  is  the  peril  of  Egypt  that  she  does  not  realize  her 
menace  in  these  Hebrews,"  the  lady  answered.  "The 
north  knows  it,  but  it  has  sprung  into  life  so  re- 
cently, and  from  such  miserable  soil,  that  even  my 
father,  who  has  been  away  from  the  Delta  but  a  few 
months,  does  not  appreciate  the  magnitude  of  the  dis- 
affection." 

"Thou  hast  lived  among  them,  Lady  Masanath. 
What  thinkest  thou  of  these  people?"  Kenkenes  asked 
after  a  little  silence. 

"Of  the  mass  I  can  not  speak  confidently,"  she  an- 
swered modestly.  "They  are  proud — they  pass  the 
Egyptian  in  pride ;  they  have  kept  their  blood  singular- 
ly pure  for  such  long  residence  among  us;  they  are 
stubborn,  querulous  and  unready.  But  above  all  they 
are  a  contented  race  if  but  the  oppression  were  lifted 
from  their  shoulders.  They  are  an  untilled  soil — none 
knows  what  they  might  produce,  but  the  confidence  of 
their  leader,  who  is  a  wondrous  man,  bespeaks  them 
a  capable  people.  To  my  mind  they  are  mistreated 
beyond  their  deserts.  I  would  have  the  powers  of 
Egypt  use  them  better." 

"Is  it  known  in  the  north  what  Mesu's  purpose  is? 
The  Israelites  among  us  talk  of  their  own  kingdom, 
and  I  wonder  if  the  Hebrew  means  to  set  up  a  nation 
within  us,  or  assail  the  throne  of  the  Pharaohs,  or  go 
forth  and  settle  in  another  country." 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "The  Hebrews 
talk  in  similitudes.  The  prospect  of  freedom  so  uplifts 
them  that  they  chant  their  purposes  to  you,. and  bewil- 


204      '  THE   YOKE 

der  you  with  quaint  words  and  hidden  meanings.  But 
these  three  facts,  my  Lord,  are  apparent  and  most  po- 
tent in  results  when  combined ;  they  are  oppressed  be- 
yond endurance ;  they  are  many ;  they  are  captained  by 
a  mystic.  They  have  but  to  choose  to  rebel,  and  it 
would  tax  the  martial  strength  of  Egypt  to  quiet 
them." 

The  magisterial  dignify  of  the  little  lady  was  most 
delightful.  The  young  sculptor's  sensations  were  di- 
vided between  interest  in  the  grave  subject  she  dis- 
cussed and  pleasure  in  her  manner.  Happening  to 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  scribe,  he  found  the  gray 
eye  of  his  friend  fixed  upon  him  from  the  group  of 
beauties.  Presently  Hotep  rambled  back  with  an  eb- 
ony stool  and  sat  a  little  aloof  in  thoughtful  silence 
until  the  visit  was  over. 

When  Kenkenes  alighted  at  the  door  of  his  father's 
house  some  time  later,  Hotep  leaned  over  the  wheel  of 
the  chariot  and  put  his  hand  on  the  sculptor's  shoul- 
der. 

"Thou  hast  met  Har-hat  and,  by  his  own  words, 
thou  hast  had  some  unpleasant  commerce  with  him. 
What  he  did  to  thee  I  know  not,  but  I  shall  let  thee 
into  mine  own  quarrel  with  him.  He  lays  the  curb  of 
silence  on  my  lips  and  enforces  the  indifference  in  my 
mien.  If  I  revolt  the  penalty  is  humiliation  and  disas- 
ter for  Masanath  and  for  me.  I  love  her,  but  I  dare 
not  let  her  dream  it.  The  fan-bearer  hath  greater 
things  in  store  for  her  than  a  scribe  can  promise.  I  am 
thy  brother  in  hatred  of  him." 

The  next  dawn,  even  before  sunrise,  Hotep  found 
Kenkenes  once  again  in  the  temple  before  the  shrine  of 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  205 

Athor.     But  this  time  the  scribe  knelt  silently  beside 
his  friend. 

When  they  emerged  into  the  sunless  solemnity  of 
the  grove  he  turned  to  Kenkenes. 

"With  the  licensed  forwardness  of  an  old  friend,  I 
would  ask  what  thou  hast  to  crave  of  the  lovers'  god- 
dess, O  thou  loveless?" 

"Favor  and  pardon,"  Kenkenes  answered. 

"So?  But  already  have  I  reached  the  limit.  Not 
even  a  friend  may  ask  an  accounting  of  a  man's  mis- 
deeds." 

Kenkenes  smiled.  "Ask  me,"  he  said,  "and  spare  me 
the  effort  of  voluntary  confession." 

"Then,  what  hast  thou  done  ?" 

"Come  and  look  upon  mine  offense.  Thine  eyes  will 
serve  thee  better  than  my  tongue." 

The  pair  were  in  costume  hardly  fitted  for  the  dust 
of  the  roadway,  but  Memphis  was  not  astir.  They 
went  across  the  city  toward  the  river  and  at  the  land- 
ings found  an  early-rising  boatman,  who  let  them  his 
bari. 

Kenkenes  took  the  oars  and  moved  out  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  swiftest  current  of  the  Nile.  There  he 
headed  down-stream  and  permitted  the  boat  to  drift. 

The  clear  heavens,  blue  and  pellucid  as  a  sapphire, 
were  still  cool,  but  from  the  lower  slope  down  the  east 
a  radiance  began  to  crawl  upward.  The  peaks  of  the 
Libyan  desert  grew  wan. 

The  young  men  did  not  resume  their  talk.     The 
dawn  in  Egypt  was  a  solemn  hour.    Kenkenes  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  heights  of  the  west.    On  the  shore  a, 
group  approached  the  Nile  edge,  and  Hotep  guessed  by 


206  THE   YOKE 

the  cluster  of  fans  and  standards  that  it  was  the  Pha- 
raoh at  his  morning  devotions  to  Nilus.  The  white 
points  on  the  hilltops  reddened  and  caught  fire. 

Softly  and  absently  Kenkenes  began  to  sing  a 
hymn  to  the  sunrise.  Hotep  rested  his  cheek  on  one 
hand  and  listened.  More  solemn,  more  appealing  the 
notes  grew,  fuller  and  stronger,  until  the  normal  power 
of  the  rich  voice  was  reached.  The  liquid  echo  on  the 
water  gave  it  a  mellow  embellishment,  and  Hotep  saw 
the  central  figure  of  the  group  on  shore  lift  his  hand 
for  silence  among  the  courtiers. 

But  Kenkenes  sang  on  unconscious  even  of  his  near- 
est auditor.  After  the  nature  of  humanity  he  was 
nearer  to  his  gods  in  trouble  than  in  tranquillity. 

The  white  fronts  of  Memphis  receded  slowly,  for 
neither  took  up  the  oars.  Hotep  hesitated  to  break  the 
silence  that  fell  after  the  end  of  the  hymn.  The  shadow 
on  the  singer's  face  proved  that  the  heart  would  have 
flinched  at  any  effort  to  soothe  it.  It  was  the  young 
sculptor's  privilege  to  speak  first. 

After  a  long  silence,  Kenkenes  roused  himself. 

"Look' to  the  course  of  the  bari,  Hotep,  and  chide  it 
with  an  oar  if  it  means  to  beach  us.  I  doubt  me  much 
if  I  am  fit  to  control  it  with  the  wine  of  this  wind  on 
my  brain." 

Hotep  took  up  the  oars  and  rowed  strongly.  "Thine 
offense  does  not  sit  heavily  on  thy  conscience,"  he 
said. 

"I  have  made  my  peace  with  Athor." 

"Hath  she  given  thee  her  word  ?" 

"Nay,  no  need..  For  I  did  not  offend  her.  Rather 
hath  she  abetted  me — urged  me  in  my  trespass.  She 
persuaded  mevto  become  vagrant  with  her,  and  I  fol- 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  207 

lowed  the  divine  runaway  into  the  desert.  I  doubt  not 
I-  was  chosen  because  I  was  as  lawless  as  her  needs 
required.  Athor  is  beautiful  and  would  prove  herself 
so  to  her  devotees.  And  to  me  was  the  lovely  labor  ap- 
pointed." 

Hotep  looked  at  him  mystified. 

"By  the  gods,"  he  said  at  last,  "thou  hadst  better  get 
in  out  of  this  wind." 

Kenkenes  laughed  genuinely.  "My  babble  will  take 
meaning  ere  long.  If  thou  questionest  me,  I  must  an- 
swer, but  I  am  determined  not  to  betray  my  secret  yet." 

"Go  we  to  On?"  Hotep  asked  plaintively,  after  a 
long  interval  of  industry  for  him  and  dream  for  Ken- 
kenes. The  young  sculptor  sat  up  and  looked  at  the 
opposite  shore.  "Nay,"  he  cried,  "we  are  long  past 
the  place  where  we  should  have  landed.  Yonder  is 
the  Marsh  of  the  Discontented  Soul.  Let  me  row 
back." 

He  turned  and  pulled  rapidly  toward  the  eastern 
shore.  Away  to  the  south,  behind  them,  were  the  quar- 
ries of  Masaarah.  But  they  were  still  a  considerable 
distance  above  Toora,  a  second  village  of  quarry-work- 
ers, now  entirely  deserted.  The  pitted  face  of  the 
mountain  behind  the  town  was  without  life,  for,  as  has 
been  seen,  Meneptah  was  not  a  building  monarch.  Di- 
rectly opposite  them  the  abrupt  wall  of  the  Arabian 
hills  pushed  down  near  to  the  Nile  and  the  intervening 
space  was  a  flat  sandy  stretch,  ending  in  a  reedy  marsh 
at  the  water's  edge.  The  line  of  cultivation  ended  far 
to  the  south  and  north  of  it,  though  the  soil  was  as  ara- 
ble as  any  bordering  the  Nile.  A  great  number  of 
marsh  geese  and  a  few  stilted  waders"  flew  up  or 
plunged  into  the  water  with'  discordant  cries  and  flap- 


208  THE   YOKE 

ping  of  wings  as  the  presence  of  the  young  men  dis- 
turbed the  solitude.  The  sedge  was  wind-mown,  and 
there  were  numberless  prints  of  bird  claws,  but  no 
mark  of  boat-keel  or  human  foot.  The  place  should 
have  been  a  favorite  haunt  of  fowlers,  but  it  was  lone- 
ly and  overshadowed  with  a  sense  of  absolute  deser- 
tion. 

"But,"  Hotep  began  suddenly,  "thou  hast  spoken  of 
offense  and  pardon,  and  now  thou  boastest  that  Athor 
abetted  thee." 

"Why  is  this  called  the  Marsh  of  the  Discontented 
Soul?" 

The  scribe  smiled  patiently.  "Of  a  truth,  dost  thou 
not  know  ?" 

"As  the  immortals  hear  me,  I  do  not.  I  have  never 
asked  and  the  chronicles  do  not  speak  of  it." 

"Nay;  the  story  is  four  hundred  years  old,  and  the 
chroniclers  do  not  tell  it  because  it  is  out  of  the  scope 
of  history,  I  doubt  not.  But  it  has  become  tradition 
throughout  Egypt  to  shun  the  spot,  though  few  know 
why  they  must.  A  curse  is  laid  upon  the  place.  An 
unfaithful  wife  whom  the  priests  denied  repose  with 
her  ancestors  is  entombed  yonder."  He  pointed  to- 
ward an  angle  between  an  outstanding  buttress  and 
the  limestone  wall.  "Her  soul  haunts  him  who  comes 
here  with  the  plea  that  her  mummy  be  removed  to  On, 
where  she  dwelt  in  life,  and  laid  with  the  respected 
dead,  in  the  necropolis." 

Kenkenes  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  trust  the  un- 
happy soul  will  not  trouble  us.  We  came  here  by  way 
of  misadventure — not  to  disturb  her.  But  how  came 
it  they  did  not  entomb  her  nearer  On  ?" 

"She  betrayed  one  great  man  and  tempted  another. 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  ±209 

She  offended  against  the  lofty.  Therefore,  her  punish- 
ment was  the  more  heavy — her  isolation  in  death  like 
to  banishment  in  life." 

"So;  if  she  had  slighted  a  paraschite  and  tempted 
a  beer  brewer,  her  fate  would  have  been  less  harsh. 
O,  the  justness  of  justice !" 

The  morning  was  well  advanced  when  they  reached 
the  niche  on  the  hillside — Hotep,  wondering;  Ken- 
kenes,  silent  and  expectant. 

The  sculptor  led  the  way  into  the  presence  of  Athor, 
and  stepped  aside.  The  scribe  halted  and  gazed  with- 
out sound  or  movement — petrified  with  amazement. 

Before  him,  in  hue  and  quiescence  was  a  statue  in 
stone — in  all  other  respects,  a  human  being.  The  fig- 
ure was  of  white  magnesium  limestone,  and  stood 
upon  rock  yet  unhewn. 

The  ritual  had  been  trampled  into  the  dust. 

The  eye  of  the  most  unlearned  Egyptian  could  detect 
the  sacrilege  at  a  single  glance. 

It  was  the  image  of  a  girl,  draped  in  an  overlong 
robe,  fastened  over  each  shoulder  by  a  fibula,  orna- 
mented with  a  round  medallion.  Through  the  vest- 
ments, intentionally  simple,  there  was  testimony  of 
the  exquisite  lines  of  the  figure  they  clothed. 

The  sole  observance  of  hieratic  symbol  were  the 
horns  of  Athor  set  in  the  hair. 

The  figure  was  posed  as  if  in  the  act  of  a  forward 
movement.  The  knee  was  slightly  bent  in  an  attitude 
of  supplication.  The  face  was  upturned,  the  eyes 
lifted,  the  arms  extended  to  their  fullest,  forward  and 
upward,  the  fingers  curved  as  if  ready  to  receive.  The 
hair  was  separated  into  two  heavy  plaits,  which  fell 
below  the  waist  down  the  back. 


210  THE   YOKE 

One  sandaled  foot  was  advanced,  slightly ;  the  other 
hidden  by  the  hem  of  the  robe. 

Every  physical  feature  visible  upon  the  living  form 
so  disposed  and  draped  had  been  carved  upon  this 
grace  in  stone.  Egypt  had  never  fashioned  anything 
so  perfect.  Indeed,  she  would  not  have  called  it  sculp- 
ture. 

The  glyptic  art  of  Greece  had  been  paralleled  hun- 
dreds of  years  before  it  was  born. 

On  the  face  there  was  the  light  of  overpowering 
love  together  with  the  intangible  pride  so  marked  on 
the  representations  of  profane  deities.  But  the  most 
manifest  emotions  were  the  great  yearning  and  en- 
treaty. They  were  marked  in  the  attitude  of  the  head 
thrown  back,  in  the  outstretched  arms  and  in  the  bent 
knee.  That  there  was  more  hopeful  expectancy  than 
despairing  insistence,  was  proved  by  the  curve  of  the 
ready  fingers  and  the  uncertain  smile  on  the  lips.  It 
was  Athor,  eternally  young,  eternally  in  love,  eternally 
unsatisfied,  receiving  the  setting  sun  as  she  had  done 
since  the  world  began.  None  of  the  rapturous  impa- 
tience and  uncertainty  of  the  moment  had  been  lost 
since  the  first  sunset  after  chaos.  And  yet,  with  all 
the  pulse  and  fervor,  here  was  womanhood,  immacu- 
late and  ineffable. 

Never  did  face  so  command  men  to  worship. 

"Holy  Amen !"  the  scribe  exclaimed,  his  voice  barely 
audible  in  its  earnestness.  "What  consummate  loveli- 
ness !    But  what — what  unspeakable  impiety !" 

"Hast  thou  seen  Athor  ?    She  is  before  thee." 

"Athor!  The  golden  goddess  in  the  image  of  a 
mortal!     Kenkenes,  the  wrath  of  the  priests  awaits 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  2ii 

thee  and  thereafter  the  doom  of  the  insulted  Pan- 
theon !"  The  scribe  shuddered  and  plucked  at  his 
friend's  robe  as  if  to  drag  him  away  from  the  sight  of 
his  own  creation. 

Firmly  fixed  were  the  young  artist's  convictions  to 
resist  the  impelling  force  of  Hotep's  consternation. 

"Nay,  nay,  Hotep,"  he  answered  soothingly.  "The 
wrath  of  the  gods  for  an  offense  thus  flagrant  is  ex- 
ceedingly slow,  if  it  is  to  fall.  Lo !  they  have  propi- 
tiated me  at  great  length  if  they  mean  to  accomplish 
mine  undoing  at  last.  Thus  far,  and  the  statue  is  well- 
nigh  complete,  I  have  met  no  form  of  obstacle." 

But  Hotep  shook  his  head  in  profound  apprehen- 
sion. He  looked  at  the  statue  furtively  and  murmured : 

"O  Kenkenes,  what  madness  made  thee  trifle  with  the 
gods?" 

"Have  I  not  said?  The  goddess  herself  lured  me. 
Is  she  not  the  embodied  essence  of  Beauty?  The  rit- 
ual insults  her.  Ah,  look  at  the  statue,  Hotep.  How 
could  Athor  be  wroth  with  the  sculptor  who  called 
such  a  face  as  that,  a  likeness  of  her !" 

"It  startles  me,"  the  scribe  declared.  "It  is  super- 
naturally  human.  That  is  not  art,  but  creation.  O 
apostate,  thine  offense  is  of  two-fold  seriousness.  Thou 
hast  stolen  the  function  of  the  divine  Mother  and  made 
a  living  thing !" 

Kenkenes  laughed  with  sheer  joy  at  his  comrade's 
genuine  praise.  The  more  dismayed  Hotep  might  be, 
the  more  sincere  his  compliment.  But  the  scribe, 
plunged  into  a  stupor  of  concern  lest  the  authorities 
discover  the  sacrilege,  went  on  helplessly. 

"What  wilt  thou  do  with  it  when  it  is  done  ?" 


212  THE   YOKE 

* 

"I  have  left  no  mark  of  myself  upon  it." 

"Nay,  but  the  priesthood  can  scent  out  a  blasphemer 
as  a  hound  scents  a  jackal." 

"Thou  wilt  not  betray  me,  Hotep;  I  shall  not  pub- 
lish myself,  and  the  other — the  only  other  who  pos- 
sesses my  secret — the  Israelite,  who  was  my  model, 
is  fidelity's  self.    I  would  trust  her  with  my  soul." 

"An  Israelite !  Thy  nation's  most  active  foe  at  this 
hour!" 

"She  is  no  enemy  to  me,  Hotep." 

Slowly  the  scribe's  eyes  traveled  from  the  face  of 
Athor  to  the  face  of  Kenkenes.  The  young  sculptor 
turned  away  and  leaned  against  the  great  cube  that 
walled  one  side  of  the  niche.  He  was  not  prepared 
to  meet  his  friend's  discerning  eyes.  Hotep  surveyed 
him  critically.  A  momentous  surmise  forced  itself 
upon  him.  He  went  to  Kenkenes  and,  laying  an  affec- 
tionate arm  across  his  shoulder,  leaned  not  lightly 
thereon. 

"Thou  hast  said,  O  my  Kenkenes,  that  I  should  un- 
derstand thy  meaning  when  thou  spakest  mysteriously 
a  while  agone.  May  I  not  know,  now?  Thou  didst 
plead  offense  to  Athor  and  didst  boast  her  pardon. 
Later  thou  calledst  her  thy  confederate.  And  earliest 
of  all,  thou  didst  confess  to  asking  favor  of  her.  How 
may  all  these  things  be?" 

"Look  thou,"  Kenkenes  began  at  once.  "On  one 
hand,  I  have  my  new  belief  concerning  sculpture— on 
the  other,  the  beliefs  of  my  fathers.  I  practise  the 
first  and  make  propitiation  for  the  second.  No  harm 
hath  overtaken  me.  Am  I  not  pardoned?  Further- 
more, Athor  is  beauty,  and  beauty  guided  my  hand  in 
creating  this  statue.     Therefore,  Athor  being  beauty, 


THE    ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  213 

Athor  was  my  confederate.  Is  it  not  lucid,  O  Son  of 
Wisdom?" 

Hotep  laughed.  "Nay,  thou  wilt  not  prosper,  Ken- 
kenes.  Thou  servest  two  masters.  But  there  is  one 
thing  still  unexplained — the  favor  of  Athor." 

"That  is  not  mine  to  boast.  I  have  but  craved  it," 
Kenkenes  replied  hesitatingly. 

"Where  doth  she  live?"  Hotep  asked,  by  way  of 
experiment. 

"In  the  quarries  below." 

There  was  no  more  doubt  in  the  mind  of  Hotep. 
Here  was  a  duty,  plain  before  him,  and  his  dearest 
friend  to  counsel.  His  must  be  tender  wisdom  and 
persuasive  authority.  Not  a  drop  of  the  scribe's  blood 
was  democratic.  He  could  not  understand  love  be- 
tween different  ranks  of  society,  and,  as  a  result, 
doubted  if  it  could  exist.  Kenkenes  must  be  awakened 
while  it  was  time. 

"Do  thou  hear  me,  O  my  Kenkenes,"  he  said  after 
some  silence.  "If  I  overstep  the  liberty  of  a  friend, 
remind  me,  but  remember  thou — whatsoever  I  shall 
say  will  be  said  through  love  for  thee,  not  to  chide 
thee.  No  man  shapeth  his  career  for  himself  alone, 
nor  does  death  end  his  deeds.  He  continues  to  act 
through  his  children  and  his  children's  children  to  the 
unlimited  extent  of  time.  Seest  thou  not,  O  Ken- 
kenes, that  the  ancestor  is  terribly  responsible?  What 
more  heavy  punishment  could  be  meted  to  the  original 
sinner,  than  to  set  him  in  eternal  contemplation  of  the 
hideous  fruitfulness  of  his  initial  sin! 

"I  have  said  sin,  because  sin,  only,  is  offense  in  the 
eyes  of  the  gods.  But  sin  and  error  are  one  in  the 
unpardoning  eye  of  nature.     Thus,  if  thou  dost  err, 


214  THE   YOKE 

though  in  all  innocence,  though  the  gods  absolve  thee, 
thou  wilt  reap  the  bitter  harvest  of  thy  misguided 
sowing,  one  day — thou  or  thy  children  after  thee.  The 
doom  is  spoken,  and  however  tardy,  must  fall — and 
the  offense  is  never  expiated.  There  is  nothing  more 
relentless  than  consequence. 

"If  thou  weddest  unwisely  thou  dost  double  thy 
children's  portion  of  difficulty,  since  thou  art  unwise 
and  their  mother  unfit.  If,  perchance,  thy  only  error 
lay  in  thy  choice  of  wife,  the  result  is  still  the  same. 
Let  her  be  most  worthy,  and  yet  she  may  be  most  un- 
fitting. She  must  fit  thy  needs  as  the  joint  fits  the 
socket.  Virtue  is  essential,  but  it  is  not  sufficient. 
Beauty  is  good — I  should  say  needful,  but  certainly 
it  is  not  all.  Love  is  indispensable  and  yet  not 
enough." 

"I  should  say  that  these  three  things  are  enough," 
put  in  Kenkenes. 

"They  would  gain  entrance  into  the  place  of  the 
blest — the  bosom  of  Osiris — but  they  are  not  sufficient 
for  the  over-nice  nobility  of  Egypt,"  the  scribe  averred 
promptly.  "Thou  must  live  in  the  world  and  the  world 
would  pass  judgment  on  thy  wife.  If  thou  art  a  true 
husband,  thou  wouldst  defend  her,  and  be  wroth.  Yet, 
canst  thou  be  happy  being  wroth  and  at  odds  with  the 
world?" 

Kenkene's  slipped  from  under  the  affectionate  arm 
and  busied  himself  with  the  statue,  marking  with  a 
sliver  of  limestone  where  his  chisel  must  smooth  away 
a  flaw.     But  the  voice  of  the  scribe  went  on  steadily. 

"The  nobility  of  Egypt  will  not  accept  an  unbeliever 
and  an  Israelite.    That  monarch  who  favored  the  son 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  215 

of  Abraham,  Joseph,  is  dead.  The  tolerant  spirit 
died  with  him.  Another  sentiment  hath  grown  up 
and  the  loveliest  Hebrew  could  not  overthrow  it. 
Henceforward,  there  is  eternal  enmity  between  Egypt 
and  Israel." 

The  sliver  of  stone  dropped  from  the  fingers  of  the 
artist  and  his  eyes  wandered  away,  dreamy  with 
thought.  He  remembered  the  story  of  the  wrong  of 
Rachel's  house,  and  it  came  home  to  him  with  over- 
whelming force  that  the  feud  between  Egypt  and 
Israel  was  the  barrier  between  him  and  his  love.  He 
was  punished  for  a  crime  his  country  had  committed. 

"Oh !"  he  exclaimed  to  himself.  "Am  I  not  surely 
suffering  for  the  sins  of  my  fathers?  How  cruelly 
sound  thy  reasoning  is,  O  thou  placid  Hotep !" 

The  scribe  saw  that  as  the  sculptor  stood,  the  plead- 
ing hands  of  Athor  all  but  touched  his  shoulders. 
Hotep  went  to  him  and  turned  him  away  from  the 
statue.  He  knew  he  could  not  win  his  friend  with  the 
beauty  of  that  waiting  face  appealing  to  him. 

"Thus  far  thou  hast  borne  with  me,  Kenkenes — and 
having  grown  bold  thereby,  I  would  go  further.  Re- 
turn with  me  to  Memphis  and  come  hither  no  more. 
She  will  soon  be  comforted,  if  she  is  not  already  be- 
trothed. Egypt  needs  thee — the  Hathors  have  be- 
spoken good  fortune  for  thee — and  thou  art  justified 
in  aspiring  to  nothing  less  than  the  hand  of  a  prin- 
cess. Come  back  to  Memphis  and  let  her  heal  thee 
with  her  congruous  love." 

"Nay,  my  Hotep,  what  a  waste  of  words!  I  will 
go  back  to  Memphis  with  thee,  not  for  thy  reasoning, 
but  for  mine  own — nay,  hers." 


216  THE   YOKE 

"Hast  thou — did  the  Israelite — "  the  scribe  began 
in  amazement,  and  paused,  ashamed  of  his  unbecoming 
curiosity. 

"Aye;  and  let  us  speak  of  it  no  more.  Thou  hast 
my  story,  my  confidence  and  my  love.  Keep  the  first 
and  the  rest  shall  be  thine  for  ever." 

"And  this?"  questioned  Hotep,  nodding  toward  the 
statue,  though  he  resolutely  kept  the  face  of  Kenkenes 
turned  from  it. 

"Let  it  be,"  Kenkenes  replied.  Hotep  hesitated, 
dissatisfied,  but  feared  to  insist  on  its  destruction,  so 
he  went  arm  in  arm  with  his  friend  down  to  the  river, 
without  a  word  of  protest.  "I  will  at  him  again  when 
he  is  better,"  he  told  himself,  "and  we  will  bury  the 
exquisite  sacrilege." 

There  was  an  animated  group  of  Hebrew  children 
at  the  Nile  drawing  water,  and  among  them  was  a 
golden-haired  maiden.  Hotep  had  but  to  glance  at 
her  to  know  that  he  looked  on  the  glorious  model  of 
the  pale  divinity  on  the  hill  above.  At  the  sound  of 
their  approach  through  the  grain,  she  looked  up.  As 
she  caught  sight  of  Kenkenes,  she  started  and  flushed 
quickly  and  as  quickly  the  color  fled. 

Since  she  was  near  the  boat,  Kenkenes  stood  close 
beside  her  for  a  moment  while  he  pushed  the  bari  into 
the  water. 

"Gods!  What  a  noble  pair!"  Hotep  ejaculated  un- 
der his  breath.  But  he  saw  Kenkenes  bend  near  the 
Israelite,  as  if  to  make  his  final  plea ;  a  spasm  of  an- 
guish contracted  her  white  face,  and  she  turned  her 
head  away.  The  incident,  so  eloquent  to  Rachel  and 
Kenkenes,  had  been  so  swift  and  subtile  in  its  enact- 


THE   ADVICE   OF   HOTEP  217 

ment,  that  only  the  quick  eye  of  Hotep  detected  it. 
Again  he  called  on  the  gods  in  exclamation : 

"She  is  saner  than  he !" 

On  the  way  back  to  Memphis  he  maintained  a 
thoughtful  silence.  Since  he  had  seen  Rachel,  he  be- 
gan to  understand  the  love  of  Kenkenes  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE   SON   OF  THE    MURKET 


March  and  April  had  passed  and  now  it  was  the 
first  of  May.  Five  days  before,  the  ceremony  of  in- 
stallation had  been  held  for  the  murket  and  the  cup- 
bearer and  for  four  days  thereafter  the  new  officers 
passed  through  initiatory  formalities.  But  on  the  fifth 
day  the  rites  of  investiture  had  been  brought  to  an  end, 
and  Mentu  and  Nechutes  entered  on  the  routine  of 
service. 

To  Mentu  fell  the  dignified  congratulations  of  his 
own  world  of  sedate  old  nobles  and  stately  women. 
But  Nechutes  was  younger  and  well  beloved  by  youth- 
ful Memphis,  so  on  the  night  of  the  fifth  day,  the  house 
of  Senci  was  aglow  and  in  her  banquet-room  there  was 
much  young  revel  in  his  honor. 

Aromatic  torches  flaring  in  sconces  lighted  the 
friezes  of  lotus,  the  painted  paneling  on  the  walls,  and 
the  clustered  pillars  that  upheld  the  ceiling  of  the 
chamber.  The  tables  had  been  removed;  the  musi- 
cians and  tumblers  common  to  such  occasions  were 
not  present,  for  the  rout  was  small  and  sufficient  unto 
itself  for  entertainment. 

Gathered  about  a  central  figure,  which  must  needs 
be  the  one  of  highest  rank — and  in  this  instance  it  was 
the  crown  prince — were  the  young  guests.    They  were 

218 


THE    SON   OF   THE    MURKET         219 

noblemen  and  gentlewomen  of  Memphis,  freed  for  an 
evening  from  the  restraint  of  pretentious  affairs  and 
spared  the  awesome  repression  of  potentates  and  mon- 
itors. 

Hotep  was  host  and  these  were  his  guests. 

First,  there  was  Rameses,  languid,  cynical,  sumptu- 
ous, and  enthroned  in  a  capacious  fauteuil,  significantly 
upholstered  in  purple  and  gold. 

Close  beside  him  and  similarly  enthroned  was  Ta- 
user.  She  wore  a  double  robe  of  transparent  linen, 
very  fine  and  clinging  in  its  texture.  The  over-dress 
was  simply  a  white  gauze,  striped  with  narrow  lines  of 
green  and  gold.  From  the  fillet  of  royalty  about  her 
forehead,  an  emerald  depended  between  her  eyes.  Her 
zone  was  a  broad  braid  of  golden  cords,  girdling  her 
beneath  the  breast,  encompassing  her  again  about  the 
hips,  and  fastened  at  last  in  front  by  a  diamond-shaped 
buckle  of  clustered  emeralds.  Her  sandals  were 
mere  jeweled  straps  of  white  gazelle-hide,  passing 
under  the  heel  and  ball  of  the  foot.  She  was  as  dar- 
ingly dressed  as  a  lissome  dancing-girl. 

On  a  taboret  at  her  right  was  Seti,  the  little  prince. 
Although  he  was  nearly  sixteen  he  looked  to  be  of  even 
tenderer  years.  In  him,  the  charms  of  the  Egyptian 
countenance  had  been  so  emphasized,  and  its  defects  so 
reduced,  that  his  boyish  beauty  was  unequaled  among 
his  countrymen. 

At  his  feet  was  Io,  playing  at  dice  with  Ta-meri 
and  Nechutes.  Ta-meri  was  more  than  usually  bril- 
liant, and  Nechutes,  flushed  with  her  favor,  was  playing 
splendidly  and  rejoicing  beyond  reason  over  his  gains. 

Opposite  this  group  was  another,  the  center  of 
which  was  Masanath.     She  sat  in  the  richest  seat  in 


>    * 

220  THE   YOKE 

the  house  of  Send.  It  was  ivory  tricked  with  gold; 
but  small  and  young  as  the  fan-bearer's  daughter  was, 
there  was  none  in  that  assembly  who  might  queen  it 
as  royally  as  she  from  its  imperial  depths.  By  her 
side  was  the  boon  companion  of  Rameses.  He  was 
Menes,  surnamed  "the  Bland,"  captain  of  the  royal 
guard,  a  most  amiable  soldier  and  chiefly  remarkable 
because,  of  all  the  prince's  world,  he  was  the  only  one 
that  could  tell  the  truth  to  Rameses  and  tell  it  without 
offense. 

On  the  floor  between  Masanath  and  Menes  was  the 
son  of  Amon-meses,  the  Prince  Siptah.  He  was  a 
typical  Oriental,  bronze  in  hue,  lean  of  frame,  brilliant 
of  eye,  white  of  teeth,  intense  in  temperament  and 
fierce  in  his  loves  and  hates.  Religion  comforted  him 
through  his  appetites ;  in  his  sight  craft  was  a  virtue, 
intrigue  was  politics,  and  love  was  a  fury.  His  eyes 
never  left  Ta-user  for  long,  and  his  every  word  seemed 
to  be  inspired  by  some  overweening  emotion. 

Aside  from  these  there  were  others  in  the  group. 
Some  were  sons  and  daughters  of  royalty,  cousins  of 
the  Pharaoh's  sons  and  of  Ta-user  and  Siptah;  many 
were  children  of  the  king's  ministers,  and  all  were 
noble. 

Senci  and  Hotep's  older  sister,  the  Lady  Bettis,  a 
dark-eyed  matron  of  thirty,  presided  in  duenna-like 
guardianship  over  the  rout.  They  sat  in  a  diphros 
apart  from  the  young  revelers. 

Kenkenes  was  momently  expected.  For  the  past 
two  months  he  had  been  seen  every  evening  wherever 
there  was  high-class  revel  in  Memphis.  But  he  had 
laughed  perfunctorily  and  lapsed  into  preoccupation 


THE   SON   OF   THE   MURKET         221 

when  none  spoke  to  him,  and  his  song  had  a  sorry  note 
in  it,  however  happy  the  theme.  But  these  were  things 
apparent  only  to  those  that  saw  deeper  than  the  sur- 
face. 

"Where  is  Kenkenes?"  Menes  demanded.  "Hath 
he  forsworn  us?" 

"I  saw  him  to-day,"  Nechutes  ventured,  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  game,  "when  we  were  fowl- 
ing on  the  Nile  below  the  city.  He  was  alone,  pulling 
down-stream,  just  this  side  of  Masaarah." 

Hotep  frowned  and  gave  over  any  hope  that  Ken- 
kenes  would  join  the  merrymaking  that  night.  But 
at  that  moment,  Ta-meri,  who  sat  facing  the  entrance 
to  the  chamber,  poised  the  dice-box  in  air  and  drew 
in  a  long  breath.    The  guests  followed  her  eyes. 

Kenkenes  stood  in  the  doorway,  the  curtain  thrust 
aside  and  above  him.  His  voluminous  festal  robes 
were  deeply  edged  with  gold,  but  his  arms,  bare  to 
the  shoulder,  and  his  strong  brown  neck  were  without 
their  usual  trappings  of  jewels.  The  omission  seemed 
intentional,  as  if  the  young  man  had  meant  to  contrast 
the  ornament  of  young  strength  and  grace  with  the 
glitter  and  magnificence  of  the  other  guests.  He  had 
succeeded  well. 

Perhaps  to  most  of  those  present,  the  young  man's 
presence  was  not  unusual,  but  Hotep  was  not  blind  to 
a  manifest  alteration  in  his  manner.  There  was  cyni- 
cism in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  a  hint  of  hurt 
or  temper  was  evident  in  the  tension  of  his  nostril  and 
the  brilliance  of  his  eyes.  Hotep  had  no  need  of  seers 
and  astrologers,  for  his  perception  served  him  in  all 
tangible  things.     He  knew  something  untoward  had 


t 

222  THE   YOKE 

set  Kenkenes  to  thinking  about  himself,  and  guessing 
where  the  young  artist  had  gone  that  evening,  he  sur- 
mised further  how  he  had  been  received. 

And  though  he  was  sorry  in  his  heart  for  his  friend's 
unhappiness,  he  confessed  his  admiration  for  Rachel. 

"Late,"  cried  Hotep,  rising. 

"Thy  pardon,  Hotep,"  Kenkenes  replied,  advancing 
into  the  chamber.  "I  had  an  errand  of  much  impor- 
tance to  Masaarah  and  it  was  fruitless.  It  shall 
trouble  me  no  more." 

Hotep  lifted  his  brows,  as  though  he  exclaimed  to 
himself,  and  made  no  answer.  Kenkenes  greeted  the 
guests  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  did  obeisance  be- 
fore Rameses. 

"Thou  speakest  of  Masaarah,  my  Kenkenes,"  the 
crown  prince  commented  after  the  salutation,  "and  it 
suggests  an  inquiry  I  would  make  of  thee.  Dost  thou 
go  on  as  sculptor,  or  wilt  thou  follow  thy  father  into 
the  art  of  building?" 

"Since  the  Pharaoh  chose  for  my  father,  he  shall 
choose  for  me  also." 

"Nay,  the  Pharaoh  did  not  choose,"  Rameses  ob- 
jected dryly.    "It  was  I." 

"Of  a  truth?  Then  thou  shalt  choose  for  me,  O 
my  generous  Prince." 

"Follow  thy  father.  I  would  have  thee  for  my 
murket.  Nay,  it  is  ever  so.  I  mold  the  Pharaoh  and 
he  gets  the  credit." 

"And  thou,  the  blame,  when  blame  accrues  from  the 
molding,"  Menes  put  in  very  distinctly,  though  under 
his  breath. 

"But  be  thou  of  cheer,  O  Son  of  the  Sun,"  Ken- 


9 
THE   SON   OF   THE   MURKET         223 

kenes  added.  "When  thou  art  Pharaoh,  thou  canst 
retaliate  upon  thine  own  heir,  in  the  same  fashion." 

"Thou  givest  him  tardy  comfort,  O  Son  of  Mentu," 
Siptah  commented  with  an  unpleasant  laugh.  "He 
will  lose  all  recollection  of  the  grudge,  waiting  so 
long." 

Rameses  turned  his  heavy  eyes  toward  the  speaker, 
but  Kenkenes  halted  any  remark  the  prince  might  have 
made. 

"Nay,  let  it  pass,"  he  said  placidly,  dropping  into  a 
chair.  "All  this  savors  too  much  of  the  future  and  is 
out  of  place  in  the  happy  improvidence  of  the  present." 

"Let  it  all  pass?"  Ta-user  asked.  "Nay,  I  would 
hold  the  prince  to  the  promise  he  made  a  moment 
agone,  when  the  choosing  of  the  new  murket  comes 
round  again." 

"Do  thou  so,  for  me,  then,  when  that  time  comes," 
Kenkenes  interrupted. 

Ta-user  laughed  very  softly  and  delivered  the 
young  artist  a  level  look  of  understanding  from  her 
topaz  eyes.  "I  fear  thou  art  indeed  improvident,"  she 
continued,  "if  thou  leavest  thy  future  to  others." 

"Then  all  the  world  is  improvident,  since  it  be- 
longeth  to  others  to  shape  every  man's  future.  But 
Hotep,  the  lawgiver,  denies  this  thing.  He  holds  that 
every  man  builds  for  himself." 

"Right,  Hotep!"  Rameses  exclaimed.  "It  was  such 
belief  that  made  a  world-conqueror  of  my  grandsire." 

"Nay,  thy  pardon,  O  my  Prince.  Hotep's  counsel 
will  not  always  hold,"  Kenkenes  objected. 

"Give  me  to  know  wherein  it  faileth,"  the  prince 
demanded. 


224  THE   YOKE 

"Alas !  in  a  thousand  things.  In  truth  a  man  even 
draws  his  breath  by  the  leave  of  others." 

"By  the  puny  god,  Harpocrates !"  the  prince  cried, 
scoffing.  "That  is  the  weakest  avowal  I  have  heard  in 
a  moon !" 

Kenkenes  flushed,  and  Rameses,  recovering  from  his 
amusement,  pressed  his  advantage. 

"Let  me  give  thee  a  bit  of  counsel  from  mine  own 
store  that  thou  mayest  look  with  braver  eyes  on  life. 
Take  the  world  by  the  throat  and  it  will  do  thy  will." 

"Again  I  dispute  thee,  O  Rameses." 

"Name  thy  witness,"  the  prince  insisted.  Kenkenes 
leaned  on  his  elbow  toward  him. 

"Canst  thou  force  a  woman  to  love  thee  ?"  he  asked 
simply. 

Ta-user  glanced  at  the  prince  and  the  sleepy  black 
eyes  of  the  heir  narrowed. 

"Let  us  get  back  to  the  issue,"  he  said.  "We  spoke 
of  others  shaping  the  future  of  men.  You  may  not 
force  a  woman  to  love  you,  but  no  love  or  lack  of  love 
of  a  woman  should  misshape  the  destiny  of  any  man." 

"That  is  a  matter  of  difference  in  temperament,  my 
Prince,"  Ta-user  put  in. 

"It  may  be,  but  it  is  the  expression  of  mine  own 
ideas,"  he  answered  roughly. 

The  lashes  of  the  princess  were  smitten  down  im- 
mediately and  Siptah's  canine  teeth  glittered  for  a 
moment,  one  set  upon  the  other.  Kenkenes  patted  his 
sandal  impatiently  and  looked  another  way.  His  gaze 
fell  on  Io.  She  had  lost  interest  in  the  game.  The 
color  had  receded  from  her  cheeks  and  now  and  again 
her  lips  trembled.  Kenkenes  looked  and  saw  that 
Seti's  eyes  were  adoring  Ta-user,  who  smiled  at  him. 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         225 

With  a  sudden  rush  of  heat  through  his  veins,  the 
young  artist  turned  again  to  Io,  and  watched  till  he 
caught  her  eye.  With  a  look  he  invited  her  to  come  to 
him.  She  laid  down  the  dice,  during  the  momentary 
abstraction  of  her  playing-mates,  and  murmuring  that 
she  was  tired,  came  and  sat  at  the  feet  of  her  champion. 

"Wherefore  dost  thou  retreat,  Io?"  Ta-user  asked. 
"Art  vanquished?"' 

"At  one  game,  aye !"  the  girl  replied  vehemently. 

Kenkenes  laid  his  hand  on  her  head  and  said  to  her 
very  softly: 

"If  only  our  pride  were  spared,  sweet  Io,  defeat  were 
not  so  hard." 

The  girl  lifted  her  face  to  him  with  some  question- 
ing in  her  eyes. 

"Knowest  thou  aught  of  this  game,  in  truth?"  she 
asked. 

He  smiled  and  evaded.  "I  have  not  been  fairly 
taught." 

Ta-meri  gathered  up  the  stakes  and  Nechutes,  col- 
lecting the  dice,  went  to  find  her  a  seat.  But  while  he 
was  gone,  she  wandered  over  to  Kenkenes  and  leaned 
on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"Let  me  give  thee  a  truth  that  seemeth  to  deny  itself 
in  the  expression,"  Io  said,  turning  so  that  she  faced 
the  young  artist. 

"Say  on,"  he  replied,  bending  over  her. 

"The  more  indifferent  the  teacher  in  this  game  of 
love,  the  sooner  you  learn,"  said  Io.  Kenkenes  took 
the  tiny  hand  extended  toward  him  in  emphasis  and 
kissed  it. 

"Sorry  truth !"  he  said  tenderly.  As  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  he  became  conscious  of  Ta-meri's  presence 


226  THE   YOKE 

and  turned  his  head  toward  her.  Her  face  was  so  near 
to  him  that  he  felt  the  glow  from  her  warm  cheek. 
His  gaze  met  hers  and,  for  a  moment,  dwelt. 

All  the  attraction  of  her  gorgeous  habiliments,  her 
warm  assurance  and  her  inceptive  tenderness  detached 
themselves  from  the  general  fusion  and  became  dis- 
tinct. Her  beauty,  her  fervor,  her  audacity,  were  not 
unusually  pronounced  on  this  occasion,  but  the  spell 
for  Kenkenes  was  broken  and  the  inner  workings  were 
open  to  him.  Different  indeed  was  the  picture  that 
rose  before  his  mind — a  picture  of  a  fair  face,  won- 
drously  and  spiritually  beautiful;  of  the  quick  blush 
and  sweet  dignity  and  unapproachable  womanhood. 
His  eyes  fell  and  for  a  moment  his  lids  were  unsteady, 
but  the  color  surged  back  into  his  cheeks  and  his  lips 
tightened. 

He  took  Io's  hands,  which  were  clasped  across  his 
knee,  and  rising,  gave  the  chair  to  Ta-meri.  He  found 
a  taboret  for  himself,  and  as  he  put  it  down  at  her 
feet,  he  saw  Nechutes  fling  himself  into  a  chair  and 
scowl  blackly  at  the  nomarch's  daughter.  Kenkenes 
sighed  and  interested  himself  in  the  babble  that  went 
on  about  him. 

The  first  word  he  distinguished  was  the  name  of 
Har-hat,  pronounced  in  clear  tones.  Menes,  who  sat 
next  to  Kenkenes,  put  out  his  foot  and  trod  on  the 
speaker's  toes.    The  man  was  Siptah. 

"Choke  before  thou  utterest  that  name  again,"  the 
captain  said  in  a  whisper,  "else  thou  wilt  have  Rameses 
abusing  Har-hat  before  his  daughter." 

"What  matters  it  to  me,  his  temper  or  her  hurt?" 
Siptah  snarled. 

"Churl !"  responded  Menes,  amiably. 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         227 

"What  is  amiss  between  the  heir  and  the  fan- 
bearer?"  Kenkenes  asked. 

"Everything !  Rameses  fairly  suffocates  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  new  adviser.  The  Pharaoh  is  sadly  torn 
between  the  twain.  He  worships  Rameses  and,  body 
of  Osiris !  how  he  loves  Har-hat !  But  sometime  the 
council  chamber  with  the  trio  therein  will  fall — the 
walls  outward,  the  roof,  up — mark  me !" 

Again,  clear  and  with  offensive  emphasis,  Siptah's 
voice  was  heard  disputing,  in  the^general  babble. 

"Magnify  the  cowardice  of  the  Rebu  if  you  will,  but 
it  was  Har-hat  who  made  them  afraid,"  he  was  saying. 

The  slow  eyes  of  Rameses  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  tacit  challenge.  Menes'  black  brows  knitted  at 
Siptah,  but  Kenkenes  came  to  the  rescue.  A  lyre,  the 
inevitable  instrument  of  ancient  revels,  was  near  him 
and  he  caught  it  up,  sweeping  his  fingers  strongly 
across  the  strings. 

A  momentary  silence  fell,  broken  at  once  by  the  ap- 
plause of  the  peace-loving,  who  cried,  "Sing  for  us, 
Kenkenes !" 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling.  "I  did  but  test  the  har- 
mony of  the  strings ;  harmony  is  grateful  to  mine  ear." 

Menes'  lips  twitched.  "If  harmony  is  here,"  he  said 
with  meaning,  "you  will  find  it  in  the  instrument." 

Again,  a  voice  from  the  general  conversation  broke 
in — this  time  from  Rameses. 

"Kenkenes  hath  outlasted  an  army  of  other  singers. 
I  knew  him  as  such  when  mine  uncles  yet  lived  and 
my  father  was  many  moves  from  the  throne.  It  was 
while  we  dwelt  unroyally  here  in  Memphis.  They 
made  thee  sing  in  the  temple,  Kenkenes.  Dost  thou 
remember  ?" 


228  THE   YOKE 

"Aye,"  Ta-user  took  it  up.  "They  made  thee  sing- 
in  the  temple  and  it  went  sore  against  thee,  Kenkenes. 
Most  of  the  upper  classes  in  the  college  here  were 
hoarse  or  treble  by  turns,  and  the  priests  required  thee 
by  force  from  thy  tutors  because  thou  couldst  sing. 
Thou  wast  a  stubborn  lad,  as  pretty  as  a  mimosa  and 
as  surly  as  a  caged  lion.  I  can  see  thee  now  chanting, 
with  a  voice  like  a  lark,  and  frowning  like  a  very 
demon  from  Amenti !" 

The  princess  laughed  musically  at  her  own  narra- 
tion and  received  the  applause  of  the  others  with  a 
serene  countenance.  She  had  repaid  Kenkenes  for  his 
implied  championship  of  her  cause  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing. 

"Art  still  as  reluctant,  Kenkenes?"  the  Lady  Senci 
called  to  him. 

Kenkenes  looked  at  the  lyre  and  did  not  answer  at 
once.  There  was  no  song  in  his  heart  and  a  moody 
silence  seemed  more  like  to  possess  his  lips.  His  audi- 
ience,  too,  was  not  in  the  temper  for  song.  He  took 
in  the  expression  of  the  guests  with  a  single  compre- 
hensive glance.  Siptah's  hands  were  clenched  and  his 
face  was  blackened  with  a  frown.  Ta-user's  silken 
brows  were  lifted,  and  even  the  pallid  countenance  of 
the  prince  was  set  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  nothing. 
Seti  was  entangled  by  the  princess'  witchery  and  he 
saw  no  one  else.  Io,  blanched  and  miserable,  forgot- 
ten by  Seti,  forgot  all  others.  In  his  heart  Kenkenes 
knew  that  Nechutes  was  unhappy  and  Hotep  and 
Masanath  ;  and  even  if  there  were  those  in  the  banquet- 
room  who  had  no  overweening  sorrow,  the  evident 
discontent  of  the  troubled  oppressed  them. 

Far  from  finding  inspiration  for  song  in  the  faces 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         229 

of  the  guests,  Kenkenes  felt  an  impulse  to  rush  out 
of  the  atmosphere  of  unrest  and  unhappiness  into  the 
solitary  night,  where  no  intrusion  of  another's  sorrow 
could  dispute  the  great  triumph  of  his  own  grief.  The 
bitter  soul  in  him  longed  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  sing- 
ing. 

The  hesitation  between  Senci's  invitation  and  his 
answer  was  not  noticeable.  He  put  the  instrument  out 
of  his  reach,  tossing  it  on  a  cushion  a  little  distance 
away. 

"Not  so  reluctant,"  he  said,  turning  his  face  toward 
the  lady,  "as  unready.  I  have  exhausted  my  trove  of 
songs  for  this  self-same  company, — wherefore  they  will 
not  listen  to  reiteration,  which  is  ever  insipid." 

Senci  wisely  accepted  his  excuse,  and  pressed  him 
no  further.  One  or  two  of  the  more  observant  mem- 
bers of  the  company  looked  at  him,  with  comprehen- 
sion in  their  eyes.  Seldom,  indeed,  had  Kenkenes  re- 
fused to  sing,  and  his  reluctance  corroborated  their 
suspicions  that  all  was  not  well  with  the  young  artist. 

The  irrepressible  Menes  observed  to  Io  in  one  of 
his  characteristic  undertones,  but  so  that  all  the  com- 
pany heard  it :  "What  makes  us  surly  to-night  ?  Look 
at  Kenkenes ;  I  think  he  is  in  love !  What  aileth  thee, 
sweet  Io?  Hast  lost  much  to  that  gambling  pair — 
Ta-meri  and  Nechutes?  And  behold  thy  fellows! 
What  a  sulky  lot !  I  am  the  most  cheerful  spirit  among 
us." 

"Boast  not,"  she  responded ;  "it  is  not  a  virtue  in 
you.  You  would  be  blithe  in  Amenti,  for  one  can  not 
get  mournful  music  out  of  a  timbrel." 

The  soldier's  eyes  opened,  and  he  caught  at  her,  but 
she  eluded  him  and  growled  prettily  under  her  breath. 


230  THE   YOKE 

"Come,  Bast,"  he  cried,  making  after  her.  "Kit, 
kit,  kit !" 

She  sprang-  away  with  a  little  shriek  and  Kenkenes, 
throwing  out  his  arm,  caught  her  and  drew  her  close. 

"Menes  is  malevolent — "  he  began. 

"Aye,  malevolent  as  Mesu !"  she  panted. 

"What!"  the  soldier  cried.  "Has  the  Hebrew  sor- 
cerer already  become  a  bugbear  to  the  children  ?" 

"If  he  become  not  a  bugbear  to  all  Egypt,  we  may 
thank  the  gods,"  Siptah  put  in. 

Rameses  laughed  scornfully,  but  Ta-user  and  Seti 
spoke  simultaneously : 

"Siptah  speaks  truly." 

"Yea,  Menes,"  the  heir  scoffed;  "he  hath  already 
become  a  bugbear  to  the  infants.  Hear  them  confess 
it?" 

Siptah  buried  his  clenched  hand  in  a  cushion  on  the 
floor  near  him. 

"O  thou  paternal  Prince,"  he  said,  "repeat  us  a 
prayer  of  exorcism  as  a  father  should,  and  rid  us  of 
our  fears." 

"And  pursuant  of  the  custom  bewailed  an  hour 
agone,  we  shall  return  thanks  to  the  Pharaoh,  for  the 
things  thou  dost  achieve,  O  our  Rameses,"  Menes 
added. 

"If  there  are  any  prayers  said,"  the  prince  replied, 
"the  Hebrews  will  say  them.  Mine  exorcism  will  be 
harsher  than  formulas." 

The  rest  of  the  company  ceased  their  undertone  and 
listened. 

"Wilt  thou  tell  us  again  what  thou  hast  said,  O 
Prince?"  Kenkenes  asked. 

"Mine  exorcism  of  the  Hebrew  sorcerer,  Mesu,  will 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         231 

be  harsher  than  formulas.  I  shall  not  beseech  the 
Israelites  and  it  will  avail  them  naught  to  beseech  me." 

"Thou  art  ominous,  Light  of  Egypt,"  Kenkenes 
commented  quietly.  "Wilt  thou  open  thy  heart  fur- 
ther and  give  us  thy  meaning?" 

"Hast  lived  out  of  the  world,  O  Son  of  Mentu  ?  The 
exorcism  will  begin  ere  long.  In  this  I  give  thee  the 
history  of  Israel  for  the  next  few  years  and  close  it. 
I  shall  not  fall  heir  to  the  Hebrews  when  I  come  to 
wear  the  crown  of  Egypt." 

"Are  they  to  be  sent  forth?"  Kenkenes  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 

Rameses  laughed  shortly. 

"Thou  art  not  versed  in  the  innuendoes  of  court- 
talk,  my  Kenkenes.  Nay,  they  die  in  Egypt  and  fer- 
tilize the  soil." 

"It  will  raise  a  Set-given  uproar,  Rameses,"  Menes 
broke  in  with  meek  conviction ;  "and  as  thou  hast  said 
— to  the  king,  the  credit — to  his  advisers,  the  blame." 

"Nay;  the  process  is  longer  and  more  natural,"  the 
prince  replied  carelessly.  "It  is  but  the  same  method 
of  the  mines.  Who  can  call  death  by  hard  labor,  mur- 
der?" 

The  full  brutality  of  the  prince's  meaning  struck 
home.  Kenkenes  gripped  the  arm  of  Ta-meri's  chair 
with  such  power  that  the  sinews  stood  up  rigid  and 
white  above  the  back  of  the  brown  hand.  Luckily,  all 
of  the  guests  were  contemplating  Rameses  with  more 
or  less  horror.  They  did  not  see  the  color  recede  from 
the  young  artist's  face  or  his  eyes  ignite  dangerously. 

Masanath  sat  up  very  straight  and  leveled  a  pair  of 
eyes  shining  with  accusation  at  the  prince. 

"Of  a  truth,  was  thine  the  fiat  ?"  she  demanded. 


232  THE   YOKE 

"Even  so,  thou  lovely  magistrate,"  he  answered  with 
an  amused  smile.    "Was  it  not  a  masterful  one?" 

Hotep  delivered  her  a  warning  glance,  but  she  did 
not  heed  it.  Austere  Ma,  the  Defender  of  Truth,  could 
have  been  as  easily  crushed. 

"Masterful !"  she  cried.  "Nay !  Menes,  lend  me 
thy  word.  Of  all  Set-given,  pitiless,  atrocious  edicts, 
that  is  the  crudest !    Shame  on  thee !" 

At  her  first  words,  Rameses  raised  himself  from  his 
attitude  of  languor  into  an  upright  and  intensely  alert 
position.  The  company  ceased  to  breathe,  but  Ken- 
kenes  heaved  a  soundless  sigh  of  relief.  Masanath 
had  uttered  his  denunciations  for  him. 

Meanwhile  the  prince's  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  a  rich 
stain  grew  in  his  cheeks  and  when  she  made  an  end 
he  was  the  picture  of  animated  delight.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  had  been  defied  and  condemned. 

But  his  gaze  did  not  disturb  Masanath.  Her  eyes 
dared  him  to  resent  her  censure.  The  prince  had  no 
such  purpose  in  mind. 

"O  by  Besa !  here  is  what  I  have  sought  for  so  long," 
he  exclaimed,  at  last.  "Hither!  thou  treasure,  thou 
dear,  defiant  little'  shrew !  Thou  art  more  to  me  than 
all  the  wealth  of  Pithom.    Hither,  I  tell  thee !" 

But  she  did  not  move.  The  company  was  breathing 
with  considerable  relief  by  this  time,  but  not  a  few  of 
them  were  casting  furtive  glances  at  Ta-user. 

"Hither!"  Rameses  commanded,  stamping  his  foot. 
"Nay,  I  had  forgot  she  defies  my  power.  Behold, 
then,  I  come  to  thee." 

Masanath  anticipated  his  intent,  and  rising  with 
much  dignity,  she  put  the  ivory  throne  between  her 
and  the  prince.    Cool  and  self-possessed  she  gathered 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         233 

up  her  lotuses,  as  fresh  after  an  evening  in  her  hand 
as  they  were  when  the  slaves  gathered  them  from  the 
Nile;  found  her  fan  and  made  other  serene  prepara- 
tions to  depart.  Rameses,  fended  from  her  by  the 
chair,  stood  before  her  and  watched  with  a  smile  in 
his  eyes. 

Presently  he  waved  his  hand  to  the  other  guests. 

"Arise ;  the  princess  is  going,"  he  commanded. 

In  the  stir  and  rustle,  laughter  and  talk  of  the 
guests,  getting  up  at  the  prince's  sign — for  it  was  cus- 
tomary to  permit  the  highest  of  rank  to  dismiss  a  com- 
pany— Masanath  slipped  from  among  them  and  at- 
tempted to  leave  unnoticed.  But  Rameses  was  before 
her  and  had  taken  possession  of  her  hand  before  she 
could  elude  him.  As  Kenkenes  passed  them  on  his 
way  to  the  door  her  soft  shoulders  were  squared ;  she 
had  drawn  herself  as  far  away  from  the  prince  as  she 
might  and  was  otherwise  evincing  her  discomfort  ex- 
travagantly. 

Before  them  was  Hotep,  outwardly  undisturbed, 
smiling  and  complacent.  At  one  side  was  Ta-user, 
at  the  other  Seti,  and  Io  hung  on  Hotep's  arm. 

The  young  artist  walked  past  them  hurriedly,  moved 
to  leave  all  the  ferment  and  agitation  behind  him.  If 
he  had  thought  to  forget  his  sorrows  among  the  light- 
hearted  revel  of  those  that  did  not  sorrow,  he  misdi- 
rected his  search. 

At  the  doors  the  Lady  Senci  met  him  and  drew  him 
over  to  the  diphros,  now  vacated  by  Bettis. 

And  there  she  took  his  face  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  him. 

"Hail !  thou  son  of  the  murket !"  she  said. 

"Having  much,  I  am  given  more,"  he  responded. 


234  THE   YOKE 

"Behold  the  prodigality  of  good  fortune.  The  Ha- 
thors  exalt  me  in  the  world  and  add  thereto  a  kiss  from 
the  Lady  Senci." 

"I  was  impelled  truly,"  she  confessed,  "but  by  thine 
own  face  as  well  as  by  the  Hathors.  Kenkenes,  if  I 
did  not  know  thee,  I  should  say  thou  wast  pretending 
— thou,  to  whom  pretense  is  impossible." 

He  did  not  answer,  for  there  was  no  desire  in  his 
heart  to  tell  his  secret ;  his  experience  with  Hotep  had 
warned  him.  Yet  the  unusual  winsomeness  of  his 
father's  noble  love  was  hard  to  resist. 

"Thy  manner  this  evening  betrays  thee  as  striving 
to  hide  one  spirit  and  show  another,"  she  continued, 
seeing  he  made  no  response. 

"Thou  hast  said,"  he  admitted  at  last;  "and  I  have 
not  succeeded.  That  is  a  sorry  incapacity,  for  the 
world  has  small  patience  with  a  man  who  can  not  make 
his  face  lie." 

"Bitter !    Thou !"  she  chid. 

"Have  I  not  spoken  truly  ?"  he  persisted. 

"Aye,  but  why  rebel?  No  man  but  hides  a  secret 
sorrow,  and  this  would  be  a  tearful  world  did  every 
one  weep  when  he  felt  like  it." 

"But  I  am  most  overwhelmingly  constrained  to 
weep,  so  I  shall  stay  out  of  the  world  and  vex  it  not." 

She  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"Art  thou  so  troubled,  then?"  she  asked  in  a  low- 
ered tone. 

"Doubly  troubled — and  hopelessly,"  he  replied,  his 
eyes  away  from  her. 

She  came  nearer  and,  putting  up  her  hands,  laid 
them  on  his  shoulders. 

"You  are  so  young,  Kenkenes — so  young,  and  youth 


THE    SON    OF   THE    MURKET         235 

is  like  to  make  much  of  the  little  first  sorrows.  Fur- 
thermore, these  are  troublous  days.  Saw  you  not  the 
temper  of  the  assembly  to-night?  Egypt  is  a-quiver 
with  irritation.  Every  little  ripple  in  the  smooth  cur- 
rent of  life  seems  magnified — each  man  seeketh  provo- 
cation to  vent  his  causeless  exasperation.  And  when 
such  ferment  worketh  in  the  gathering  of  the  young, 
it  is  portentous.  It  bodeth  evil !  You  are  but  caught 
in  the  fever,  my  Kenkenes,  and  your  little  vexations 
are  inflamed  until  they  hurt,  of  a  truth.  Get  to  your 
rest,  and  to-morrow  her  smile  will  be  more  propitious." 

Kenkenes  looked  at  the  uplifted  face  and  noted  the 
laugh  in  the  eyes. 

"What  a  tattling  face  is  mine,"  he  said.  "Is  her 
name  written  there  also  ?"  He  drew  his  fingers  across 
his  forehead. 

"No  need;  I  have  been  young  and  many  are  the 
young  that  have  wooed  and  wed  beneath  mine  eyes. 
I  know  the  signs."  She  nodded  sagely  and  continued 
after  a  little  pause : 

"I  shall  not  pry  further  into  your  sorrow,  Ken- 
kenes ;  but  you  are  good  and  handsome,  and  winsome, 
and  wealthy,  and  young,  and  it  is  a  stony  heart  that 
could  hold  out  long  against  you.  I  would  wager  my 
mummy  that  the  maiden  is  this  instant  well-nigh  ready 
to  cast  herself  at  your  feet,  save  that  your  very  excel- 
lence deters  her.  Go,  now,  and  let  your  dreams  be 
sweeter  than  these  last  waking  hours  have  been." 

Again  she  kissed  him  and  let  him  go. 

In  the  corridor  without,  he  received  his  mantle  and 
kerchief  from  a  servant  and  continued  toward  the 
outer  portals.  But  before  he  reached  them,  Ta-meri 
stepped  out  of  a  cross-corridor  and  halted.    Never  be- 


236  THE    YOKE 

fore  did  her  eyes  so  shine  or  her  smile  so  flash  within 
the  cloud  of  gauzes  that  mantled  and  covered  her. 
Kenkenes  wondered  for  a  moment  if  he  must  explain 
the  change  in  his  countenance  to  her  also.  But  the 
beauty  had  herself  in  mind  at  that  moment. 

"Kenkenes,  thou  hast  given  me  no  opportunity  to 
wish  thee  well,  as  the  son  of  the  murket." 

"Ah,  but  in  this  nook  thy  good  wishes  will  be  none 
the  less  sincere  nor  my  delight  any  less  apparent." 

"Most  heartily  I  give  thee  joy !" 

Kenkenes  kissed  her  hand.  "And  wilt  thou  say  that 
to  Nechutes  and  put  him  in  the  highest  heaven  ?" 

"Already  have  I  wished  him  well,"  she  responded, 
pretending  to  pout,  "but  he  repaid  me  poorly." 

"Nay!    What  did  he?" 

"Begged  me  to  become  his  wife." 

"And  having  given  him  the  span,  thou  didst  yield 
him  the  cubit  also  when  he  asked  it  ?"  he  surmised. 

"Nay,  not  yet.  But— shall  I?"  she  lifted  her  face 
and  looked  at  him,  smiling  and  bewitchingly  beautiful. 
Her  eyes  dared  him;  her  lips  invited  him;  all  her 
charms  rose  up  and  besought  him.  For  a  moment, 
Kenkenes  was  startled.  If  he  had  believed  that 
Ta-meri  loved  him  never  so  slightly,  his  sensations 
would  have  been  most  distressing.  But  he  knew  and 
was  glad  to  know  that  he  awakened  nothing  deeper 
than  a  superficial  partiality,  which  lasted  only  as  long 
as  he  was  in  her  sight  to  please  her  eye.  In  spite  of 
his  consternation,  he  could  think  intelligently  enough 
to  surmise  what  had  inspired  her  words.  The  Lady 
Senci  had  guessed  the  nature  of  his  trouble ;  even 
Menes  had  hinted  a  suspicion  of  the  truth  in  a  banter- 
ing way.     What  would  prevent  the  beauty  from  seeing 


THE   SON   OF   THE   MURKET         237 

it  also  and  preempting-  to  herself  the  honors  of  his 
disheartenment  ?  But  he  was  in  no  mood  for  a  co- 
quettish tilt  with  her.  His  sober  face  was  not  more 
serious  than  his  tone  when  he  made  answer : 

"Do  not  play  with  him,  Ta-meri.  He  is  worthy  and 
loves  thee  most  tenderly.  Thou  lovest  him.  Be  kind  to 
thine  own  heart  and  put  him  to  the  rack  no  more.  Thou 
art  sure  of  him  and  I  doubt  not  it  pleases  thee  to  tanta- 
lize thyself  a  little  while ;  but  Nechutes,  who  must  en- 
dure the  lover's  doubts,  is  suffering  cruelly.  Thou  art 
a  good  child,  Ta-meri ;  how  canst  thou  hurt  him  so  ?" 

He  paused,  for  her  eyes,  growing  remorseful,  had 
wandered  away  from  him.  He  knew  he  had  reasoned 
well.  The  guests  in  the  banquet-room  began  to 
emerge,  talking  and  laughing.  The  voice  of  Nechutes 
was  not  heard  among  them.  Kenkenes  glanced  toward 
the  group  and  saw  the  cup-bearer  a  trifle  in  advance, 
his  sullen  face  averted. 

"He  comes  yonder,"  Kenkenes  added  in  a  whisper, 
"poor,  moody  boy !  Go  back  to  him  and  take  him  all 
the  happiness  I  would  to  the  gods  I  knew.     Farewell." 

He  pressed  her  hand  and  continued  toward  the  door. 

Once  again  he  was  hailed,  this  time  by  Rameses. 
He  halted,  stifling  a  groan,  and  returned  to  the  prince. 
Nechutes  and  Ta-meri  had  disappeared. 

"One  other  thing,  I  would  tell  thee,  Kenkenes,"  the 
prince  said,  "and  then  thou  mayest  go.  The  Pharaoh 
heard  a  song  to  the  sunrise  on  the  Nile  some  time  ago 
and  I  identified  the  voice  for  him.  He  would  have  thee 
sing  for  him,  Kenkenes." 

"The  Pharaoh's  wish  is  law,"  was  the  slow  answer. 

"Oh,  it  was  not  a  command,"  Rameses  replied  affa- 
bly, for  he  was  still  holding  Masanath's  hand  and  there- 


238  THE   YOKE 

fore  in  high  good  humor  with  himself.  "In  truth  he 
said  the  choice  should  be  thine  whether  thou  wilt  or 
not.  He  would  not  insist  that  a  nobleman  become  his 
minstrel.  But  more  of  this  later;  the  gods  go  with 
thee." 

Kenkenes  bowed  and  escaped. 

In  his  room  a  few  moments  later,  he  lighted  his 
lamp  of  scented  oils  and  contemplated  the  comforts 
about  him.  His  conscience  pointed  a  condemning 
finger  at  him.  Here  was  luxury  to  the  point  of  use- 
lessness  for  himself;  across  the  Nile  was  the  desolate 
quarry-camp  for  his  love.  In  Memphis  he  had  robed 
himself  in  fine  linen  and  reveled,  had  eaten  with 
princes  and  slept  sumptuously — in  his  strength  and 
his  manhood  and  unearned  idleness.  And  she,  but  a 
tender  girl,  had  toiled  for  the  quarry-workers  and 
fasted  and  now  faced  death  in  the  hideous  extermina- 
tion purposed  for  her  race. 

He  ground  his  teeth  and  prayed  for  the  dawn. 

He  forgot  that  he  had  come  away  from  the  Arabian 
hills  because  she  repelled  him;  he  remembered  his 
scruples  concerning  their  social  inequality,  only  to 
revile  himself ;  Hotep's  caution  was  more  than  ever 
a  waste  of  words  to  him.  He  forgot  everything  ex- 
cept that  he  was  here  in  comfort,  she,  there  in  want 
and  in  peril,  and  he  had  not  rescued  her. 

He  did  not  sleep.     He  tossed  and  counted  the  hours. 

"Sing  for  the  Pharaoh!"  he  exclaimed,  "aye,  I  will 
sing  till  the  throat  of  me  cracks — not  for  the  reward 
of  his  good  will  alone,  but  for  Rachel's  liberty.  That 
first,  and  the  unraveling  of  this  puzzle  thereafter." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


AT   MASAARAH 


Since  the  day  Kenkenes  had  wounded  her  hand  with 
the  knife,  Rachel  had  seen  him  but  twice  in  many 
weeks. 

One  mid-morning,  the  oxen  were  unyoked  from  the 
water-cart  and  led  ambling  up  to  the  pit  where  a 
monolith,  too  huge  to  be  moved  by  men  alone,  had  been 
taken  forth  and  was  to  be  transferred  to  the  Nile.  The 
bearers  carried  water  directly  from  the  river  during 
this  time,  and  it  was  given  Rachel  to  govern  them  in 
the  departure  from  the  routine. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  some  one  ap- 
proached through  the  grain,  and  when  she  raised  her 
head,  she  looked  up  into  the  face  of  Kenkenes.  It  was 
Kenkenes,  indeed,  but  Kenkenes  in  robes  of  rustling 
linen  and  trappings  of  gold.  Never  had  she  seen  so 
stately  an  Egyptian,  nor  any  so  entitled  to  the  name 
of  nobleman.  In  quick  succession  she  experienced  the 
moving  sensations  of  surprise,  pride  in  him,  and  de- 
pression. The  last  fell  on  her  with  the  instant  rec- 
ollection of  duty,  when  his  face  bent  appealingly 
over  hers.  Trembling,  she  turned  away  from  him, 
and  when  she  looked  again,  he  was  returning  to 
Memphis. 

Now,  her  days  had  ceased  to  be  the  dreamy  lapses 
239 


240  THE   YOKE* 

of  time  in  which  she  lived  and  walked.  The  glamour 
that  had  made  the  quarries  sufferable  had  passed ;  all 
the  realization  of  her  enslavement,  with  the  accom- 
panying shame,  came  to  her,  and  her  hope  for  Israel 
was  lost  in  the  destruction  of  her  personal  happiness. 

Still,  the  longing  to  look  on  Kenkenes  once  again 
made  the  dawns  more  welcome,  the  days  longer  and 
the  sunsets  more  disheartening.  Vainly  she  summoned 
pride  to  her  aid;  vainly  she  exhorted  herself  to  con- 
sistency. 

"How  long,"  she  would  say,  "since  thou  didst  re- 
ject the  good  Atsu  because  he  is  an  idolater  and  an 
Egyptian?  How  long  since  thou  wast  full  of  wrath 
against  the  chosen  people  who  wedded  Egyptians  and 
became  of  them?  And  now,  who  is  it  that  is  full  of 
sighs  and  strange  conduct?  Who  is  it  that  hath  for- 
gotten the  idols  and  the  abominations  and  the  bondage 
of  her  people  and  mourneth  after  one  of  the  oppress- 
ors? And  how  will  it  be  with  thee  when  the  chosen 
people  go  forth,  or  the  carving  is  complete  and  the 
Egyptian  cometh  no  more ;  or  how  will  it  be  when  he 
taketh  one  of  the  long-eyed  maidens  of  his  kind  to 
wife?" 

In  the  face  of  all  this,  her  intuition  rose  up  and  bore 
witness  that  the  Egyptian  loved  her,  and  was  no  less 
unhappy  than  she. 

So  time  came  and  went  and  weeks  passed  and  he 
came  not  again.  Late,  one  sunset,  while  there  yet 
was  daylight,  she  left  the.  camp  merely  that  she 
might  wander  down  the  valley  to  the  same  spot  where, 
at  the  same  hour,  she  had  met  Kenkenes  on  that  last 
occasion  of  talk  between  them. 

Moving  slowly  down  the  shadows,  she  saw  a  figure 


AT    MASAARAH  241 

approaching-.  The  stature  of  the  new-comer  identi- 
fied him.  The  head  was  up,  the  step  slow,  the  bearing 
expectant.  In  the  one  scant  lapse  between  two  throbs 
of  her  heart,  Rachel  knew  her  lover,  remembered  all 
the  power  of  his  attraction,  and  realized  that  her  joy 
and  love  could  carry  her  beyond  her  fortitude  and 
resolution. 

Just  ahead  of  her,  not  farther  than  three  paces,  a 
long  fragment  of  rock  had  fallen  from  above  and 
leaned  against  the  wall.  There  was  an  ample  space 
formed  by  its  slant  against  the  cliff  and  almost  before 
she  knew  it,  she  had  crept  into  this  crevice.  Cower- 
ing in  the  dusk,  she  clutched  at  her  loud-beating  heart 
and  listened  intently. 

There  was  no  sound  of  his  steps  on  the  rough  road- 
way of  the  valley  and  though  she  watched  eagerly 
from  her  hiding-place,  she  did  not  see  him  pass.  After 
a  long  time  she  emerged.     He  was  gone. 

When  she  looked  in  the  dust  she  found  that  his 
footprints  turned  not  far  from  her  hiding-place  and 
led  toward  the  Nile. 

She  knew  then  that  he  had  seen  her  when  she  had 
caught  sight  of  him,  and  failing  to  meet  her  as  he  had 
expected,  had  guessed  she  had  hidden  from  him. 

This  was  the  sunset  of  the  night  of  the  revel  at 
Senci's  house.  It  was  this  incident  that  had  made 
Kenkenes  late  at  the  festivities,  and  cynical  when  he 
came. 

On  her  way  back  to  the  camp  Rachel  met  Atsu, 
mounted  and  attended  by  a  scribe,  the  taskmaster's 
secretary.  The  two  officials  were  on  their  way  to 
Memphis  to  worship  in  the  great  temple  and  to  spend 
a  night  among  free-born  men.     Once  every  month, 


242  THE   YOKE 

no  oftener,  did  Atsu  return  to  his  own  rank  in  the 
city.  Recognizing  Rachel,  he  drew  up  his  horse;  the 
scribe  rode  on. 

"Hast  been  in  search  of  the  Nile  wind,  Rachel? 
The  valley  holds  the  day-heat  like  an  oven,"  he  said. 

"Nay,  I  did  not  go  so  far.  The  darkness  came  too 
quickly." 

"Endure  it  a  while.  I  shall  move  the  people  into  the 
large  valley  where  they  may  have  the  north  breeze  and 
the  water-smell  after  sunset,  now  that  the  summer  is 
near.  I  am  glad  I  met  thee.  Deborah  tells  me  the  water 
for  the  camp-cooking  is  turbid,  and  I  doubt  not  the 
children  draw  it  from  some  point  below  the  wharf 
where  the  drawing  for  the  quarry-supply  stirs  up  the 
ooze.  Do  thou  go  with  the  children  in  the  morning 
when  they  are  sent  for  the  camp  supply,  and  get  it 
above  the  wharf." 

"I  hear,"  she  answered. 

"The  gods  attend  thee,"  he  said,  riding  away. 

"Be  thy  visit  pleasant,"  she  responded,  and  turned 
again  up  the  valley. 

The  taskmaster  was  forgotten  at  her  second  step, 
and  her  contrition  and  humiliation  came  back  with  a 
rush.  There  was  little  sleep  for  her  that  night,  so 
heavy  was  her  heart. 

The  next  morning  Rachel  obeyed  Atsu  and  followed 
the  children  to  the  Nile.  Crossing  the  field,  absorbed 
in  her  trouble,  she  did  not  hear  the  beat  of  hoofs  or 
the  grind  of  wheels  until  she  was  face  to  face  with 
the  attendants  of  a  company  of  charioteers.  The  troop 
of  water-carriers  had  scattered  out  of  the  road-way 
and  each  little  bronzed  Israelite  was  bending  with  his 


AT   MASAARAH  243 

right  hand  upon  his  left  knee  in  token  of  profound 
respect.    Rachel  hastily  joined  them. 

When  she  looked  again  the  retinue  of  servants 
had  passed.  After  them  came  a  gilded  chariot  with  a 
sumptuous  Egyptian  within.  By  the  annulets  over 
his  temples  and  the  fringed  ribbons  pendent  therefrom, 
the  Israelite  knew  him  to  be  royal. 

Behind,  a  second  chariot  was  driven  by  a  single 
occupant,  who  wore  the  badges  of  princehood  also. 

The  third  was  a  chariot  of  ebony  drawn  by  two 
prancing  coal-black  horses  whose  leathers  and  hous- 
ings shone  and  jingled.  Rachel's  eyes  met  those  of  the 
driver  and  the  life-current  froze  in  her  veins.  Har- 
hat,  fan-bearer  to  the  Pharaoh,  late  governor  of  Bubas- 
tis,  drew  up  his  horses  and  calmly  surveyed  her.  The 
action  halted  the  chariots  of  a  dozen  courtiers  follow- 
ing him.  One  by  one  they  came  to  a  stand-still  and 
each  man  peered  around  his  predecessor  until  the  fan- 
bearer  became  conscious  of  the  pawing  horses  behind 
him.  He  drove  out  of  line  and  alighted.  With  an  apol- 
ogetic wave  of  his  hand,  he  motioned  the  procession  to 
proceed  and  busied  himself  with  the  harness  as  if  he 
had  found  a  breakage.  Those  that  had  passed  were  by 
this  time  some  distance  ahead  and,  missing  the  grind 
of  wheels  in  their  wake,  looked  back.  The  fan-bearer 
beckoned  to  one  of  the  attendants  who  had  gone  be- 
fore, and  the  man  returned. 

Meanwhile  the  procession  moved  on  and  the  nobles 
glanced  first  at  the  fan-bearer,  and  next,  at  the  Israel- 
ite. But  Athor  in  the  niche  on  the  hillside  was  not 
more  white  and  stony  than  its  living  model  in  the 
valley.    There  was  no  retreat.     The  fan-bearer  stood 


244  THE   YOKE 

between  her  and  the  Nile,  his  servant  between  her  and 
the  quarries.  She  felt  the  sickening  numbness  that 
stupefies  one  who  realizes  a  terrible  strait,  from  which 
there  is  neither  succor  nor  escape. 

The  procession  passed  and  the  servant,  halting, 
bowed  to  his  master.  He  was  short  and  fat,  thick  of 
neck  and  long  of  arm — a  most  unusual  Egyptian. 
Har-hat  tossed  him  the  reins  and,  walking  around  his 
horses,  approached  Rachel.  The  smallest  Hebrew — 
too  small  to  be  awed  and  yet  old  enough  to  realize  that 
the  beloved  Rachel  was  in  danger,  dropped  the  hide 
he  bore,  and  flinging  himself  before  her,  clasped  her 
with  his  arms,  and  turned  a  defiant  face  at  Har-hat 
over  his  shoulder.    The  fan-bearer  paused. 

"It  is  the  very  same,"  he  said  laughingly.  "The 
hard  life  of  the  quarries  hath  not  robbed  thee  in  the 
least  of  thy  radiance.  But  by  the  gambling  god,  Toth, 
thou  didst  take  a  risk!  Dost  dream  what  thou  didst 
miss  through  a  malevolent  caprice  of  the  Hathors? 
Five  months  ago  I  would  have  taken  thee  out  of  bond- 
age into  luxury  but  for  an  industrious  taskmaster 
and  the  unfortunate  interference  of  a  royal  message. 
But  the  Seven  Sisters  repent,  and  I  find  thee  again." 

Rachel  had  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  white  walls  of 
Memphis  shining  in  the  morning  sun,  and  did  not  seem 
to  hear  him. 

"Nay,  now,  slight  me  not !  It  was  the  fault  of  the 
taskmaster  and  not  mine.  I  confess  the  charm  of 
distant  Memphis,  but  it  is  more  glorious  within  its 
walls.  I  am  come  to  take  thee  thither.  Thank  me 
with  but  a  look,  I  pray  thee." 

Seeing  she  did  not  move  nor  answer,  he  tilted  his 
head  to  one  side  and  surveyed  her  with  interest. 


AT    MASAARAH  245 

"Hath  much  soft  persuasion  surfeited  thee  into  deaf- 
ness ?"     The  color  surged  up  into  Rachel's  face. 

"Ha !"  he  exclaimed,  "not  so !  Perhaps  thou  art 
but  reluctant,  then."  He  whirled  upon  the  other 
children,  cowering  behind  him. 

"Is  she  wedded  ?"  he  demanded. 

Frightened  and  trembling,  they  did  not  answer  till 
he  repeated  the  question  and  stamped  his  foot.  Then 
one  of  them  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  well.  I  need  not  delay  till  a  slave-husband 
were  disposed  of  in  the  mines.     Hither,  Unas !" 

The  fat  servitor  came  forward. 

"I  know  this  taskmaster  not,  nor  can  I  coax  or  press 
him  into  giving  her  up  without  the  cursed  formality  of 
a  document  of  gift  from  the  Pharaoh.  Get  thee  back 
to  Memphis  with  this,"  he  drew  off  a  signet  ring  and 
gave  it  to  the  servitor,  "and  to  the  palace.  There 
have  my  scribe  draw  up  a  prayer  to  the  Pharaoh, 
craving  for  me  the  mastership  over  the  Israelite, 
Rachel, — for  household  service."  The  fan-bearer 
laughed.  "Forget  not,  this  latter  phrase,  else  the 
Pharaoh  might  fancy  I  would  take  her  to  wife.  Haste 
thee !  and  bring  back  Nak  and  Hebset  with  thee  to  row 
the  boat  back,  and  help  thee  fetch  her.  She  may  have 
a  lover  who  might  make  trouble  for  thee  alone.  Get 
thee  gone." 

He  took  the  reins  from  his  servitor's  hands  and 
turned  again  toward  Rachel. 

"I  go  forth  to  hunt,  and  there  is  danger  in  that 
pastime.  I  may  not  return.  It  would  be  most  fitting 
to  bid  me  a  tender  farewell,  but  thou  art  cruel.  Never- 
theless, I  shall  care  for  myself  most  diligently  this  day, 
and  return  to  thee  in  Memphis  by  nightfall.     Fare- 


246  THE   YOKE 

well !"  He  sprang  into  his  chariot  and,  urging  his 
horses,  pursued  the  far-away  procession  at  a  gallop. 

Unas  was  already  at  the  Nile-side,  preparing  to 
return  to  Memphis.  To  Rachel  it  seemed  as  if  she  had 
been  set  free  for  a  moment,  that  her  efforts  to  escape 
and  her  inevitable  capture  might  amuse  her  tormentor. 
And  after  the  manner  of  the  miserable  captive  so  beset, 
she  seized  upon  the  momentary  release  and  sought 
to  fly.  The  three  little  Hebrews  clung  to  her — the 
one  that  had  answered  Har-hat  weeping  bitterly  and 
remorsefully. 

"Nay,  weep  not,"  she  said  in  a  hurried  whisper. 
"It  would  have  ended  just  the  same.  Heard  ye  not 
what  he  said  concerning  a  husband  ?  But  let  me  go ! 
Let  Rachel  hide  ere  the  serving  men  return !" 

She  undid  their  arms  and  ran  back  toward  the  quar- 
ries. For  a  moment  the  children  hesitated  and  then 
they  pursued  her,  crying  in  an  undertone  as  they  ran. 
Past  the  stone-pits,  up  the  winding  valley  she  fled 
until  she  reached  the  encampment  and  her  own  tent. 

The  women  saw  her  come  and  old  Deborah,  who 
was  preparing  vegetables  for  the  noonday  meal,  left 
the  fires  and  hastened  to  the  shelter.  There,  Rachel, 
choking  with  terror  and  tears,  gave  the  story  of  the 
morning. 

Deborah  made  no  interruption  and  after  the  dis- 
jointed and  unhappy  recital  was  complete,  she  sat  for 
some  moments,  motionless  and  silent.  Then  she  arose 
and  made  as  if  to  leave  the  tent,  but  Rachel  caught  at 
her  hand  in  affright. 

"Nay,  be  not  so  frightened,"  the  old  woman  said 
soothingly.  "I  go  to  look  for  Atsu.  He  will  come 
in  a  little  while." 


AT    MASAARAH  '247 

With  that,  she  went  forth".  After  a  time — more 
than  two  hours,  in  truth,  but  infinitely  longer  to  Rachel, 
the  voice  of  the  taskmaster  was  heard  without,  talking 
with  Deborah.  He  was  permitting  no  curb  to  the  ex- 
pression of  his  rage. 

"The  gods  rend  his  heart  to  ribbons!"  he  panted 
after  a  tempest  of  anathema.  "Curse  the  insatiate 
brute !  Is  there  not  enough  of  Egypt's  women  who 
are  willingly  loose  that  he  must  destroy  the  purest 
spirit  on  earth?  He  shall  not  have  her,  if  I  take  his 
life  to  save  her !" 

After  a  moment's  savage  rumination,  he  broke  out 
again. 

"He  has  us  on  the  hip!  We  shall  be  put  to  it  to 
hide  her  away  from  him  now.  Do  thou  go  to  her — 
nay,  I  will  go." 

Rachel  heard  him  enter  the  tent  and  walk  across  the 
matting  on  the  floor.  She  flung  her  arm  over  her 
face  and  huddled  closer  to  the  linen-covered  heap  of 
straw  against  which  she  had  thrown  herself.  Even 
the  eyes  of  the  taskmaster  were  intolerable,  in  her 
shame.  Atsu  plunged  into  the  heart  of  his  subject  at 
once. 

"There  is  no  escape  in  the  choosing  of  the  tens,  now, 
Rachel.  I  have  said  that  I  would  not  vex  thee  again 
with  my  love.  Once  I  offered  thee  marriage  as  refuge. 
My  love  and  the  shelter  of  my  name  are  thine  to  take 
or  leave.     I  will  urge  thee  no  more." 

He  paused  for  a  space  and,  as  she  made  no  answer, 
he  went  on  as  though  she  had  rejected  him  explicitly. 

"Then  I  shall  hide  thee  somewhere  in  Egypt.  The 
ruse  is  not  secure,  but  it  may  serve." 

She  sat  up  and  put  the  hair  back  from  her  face. 


248  THE  YOKE 

"Thou  good  Atsu,"  she  said  in  a  voice  subdued  with 
much  weeping.  "Wilt  thou  add  more  to  mine  already 
hopeless  indebtedness  to  thee?  Art  thou  blind  to  the 
ill-use  thou  invitest  upon  thine  own  head  in  thy  care 
for  me?  Let  me  imperil  thee  no  more.  Is  there  no 
other  way?" 

He  shook  his  head.  Slowly  her  face  fell,  and  she 
sighed  for  very  heaviness  of  spirit.  Atsu  stooped  and 
took  her  hand. 

"Make  ready  and  let  us  leave  this  place,"  he  said 
kindly,  "and  thou  canst  decide  in  the  securer  precincts 
of  Memphis  what  thou  wilt  do.  Lose  no  time."  He 
turned  away  and,  signing  to  Deborah  to  follow  him, 
left  the  tent. 

Rachel  arose  and  began  her  preparations  to  depart. 
The  formidable  blockade  in  the  way  to  safety  seemed 
to  clear  and  her  heart  leaped  at  the  anticipation  of 
freedom  or  stopped  at  the  suggestion  of  failure.  She 
hastened  slowly,  for  her  excitement  made  most  of  her 
movements  vain.  Her  hands  trembled  and  held  things 
insecurely ;  she  forgot  the  place  of  many  of  her  be- 
longings, in  that  humble,  orderly  house.  Alternately 
praying  and  fearing,  she  stopped  now  and  then  to  be 
sure  that  the  sounds  of  the  camp  were  not  those  of 
the  returning  servants.  The  simple  apparel  gathered 
together,  she  collected  the  remaining  mementoes  of 
her  family, — saved  with  so  much  pain  and  guarded 
with  such  diligence  by  old  Deborah.  These  were 
trinkets  of  gold  and  ivory,  bits  of  frail  gauzes  in  which 
a  wondrous  perfume  lingered,  and  a  scroll  of  sheep- 
skin bearing  the  records  of  the  house.  And  after  all 
these  had  been  found  and  gathered  together,  she  fur- 


AT    MASAARAH       ■  249 

tively  put  the  straw  aside  and  drew  forth  the  collar  of 
golden  rings. 

With  the  first  glint  of  light  on  the  red  metal,  the 
hope  and  animation  in  her  heart  went  out.  What 
of  Kenkenes?  No  thought  came  to  her  now,  but  the 
most  unhappy.  The  obligations  which  she  would  have 
gladly  laid  on  him  had  fallen  to  Atsu.  She  dared 
not  confess  to  him  her  love,  and  she  could  not  give  him 
gratitude.  He  had  entered  her  life  like  a  bewildering 
radiance,  but  it  was  Atsu  who  had  saved  her  and 
emancipated  her  and  would  save  her  again. 

She  thrust  the  collar  into  her  bosom  with  a  sob  and 
went  on  mechanically  with  her  preparations.  But  dur- 
ing one  of  her  movements  the  coins  clinked  musically. 
She  clutched  them,  and  they  rang  again,  softly.  They 
reproached  her,  and  in  that  irresistible  way, — gently. 
They  made  a  sound  even  as  she  breathed.  As  she 
walked  they  chafed.  They  took  weight  and  crushed 
her  breast.  And  with  every  sound  from  them,  she 
felt  Kenkenes'  arm  about  her,  her  hand  lost  in  his, 
the  warmth  of  his  young  cheek  against  hers.  Never 
so  long  as  his  gift  were  in  her  possession  might  she 
hope  to  put  these  memories  from  her,  and  she  could 
not  cherish  them  hopefully  now.  Desperate  grief 
stirred  her  into  action.  She  went  quickly  to  the  door 
of  the  tent  and  there  met  Deborah. 

"This  is  not  mine,"  she  said,  holding  up  the  neck- 
lace. "It  belongs  to  the  young  nobleman  who  brought 
me  back  to  camp  that  night." 

"Leave  it  with  the  tribe  and  it  shall  be  given  him." 

"Nay,  he  may  not  return  to  camp.  I  know  where 
he  comes  and  I  can  leave  it  there.  It  is  not  far — only 
a  little  way." 


250  THE  YOKE 

Deborah  stood  in  her  path. 

"Will  he  be  there  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Nay,  that  I  can  pledge  thee."  She  slipped  past  her 
guardian,  out  of  the  tent  and  sped  up  the  valley, 
determined  that  Deborah's  prohibition,  however  just, 
should  not  stay  her. 

The  old  Israelite  turned  to  look  after  her,  and  her 
eyes  fell  on  Atsu,  his  face  black  with  rage,  his  arms 
folded,  talking  with  a  fat,  wildly  gesticulating  servitor. 
At  that  moment  the  courier  caught  sight  of  Rachel 
flying  up  the  valley  and,  flinging  a  document  at  Atsu's 
feet,  started  to  pursue.  Atsu  halted  him  with  an  iron 
hand,  and  Deborah  paused  to  see  no  more.  With  a 
prayer  she  ran  up  the  valley  the  way  Rachel  had  taken. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


IN    THE   DESERT 


In  the  early  morning  of  the  next  day  after  the  rout 
at  Senci's,  Kenkenes  wandered  restlessly  about  the 
inner  court  of  his  father's  house.  He  had  slept  but 
little  the  preceding  night,  and  now,  dizzy  and  irritable, 
the  freshness  of  the  morning  did  not  invigorate  him 
and  the  haunting  perplexities  were  with  him  still. 

There  was  no  need  of  haste  to  the  Arabian  hills  and 
yet  he  could  not  wait  patiently  in  Memphis  for  an 
appropriate  hour  to  visit  Masaarah.  He  paced  hither 
and  thither,  flung  himself  on  the  benches  in  the 
shade,  only  to  rise  and  resume  his  uneasy  walk. 
Anubis  was  omnipresent  and  particularly  ungovern- 
able. If  his  young  master  were  in  motion  he  vibrated 
and  oscillated  like  a  shuttle.  If  Kenkenes  sat,  he  paced 
the  tessellated  pavement  slowly  and  with  a  foot-fall 
lighter  than  a  bird's.  The  sculptor  eyed  him  under- 
standing^, and  finally  arose. 

"Come,  Anubis!  Tit,  tit,  tit!"  he  called,  backing 
toward  the  work-room.  Anubis  bounded  after  him, 
but  as  Kenkenes  paused  just  over  the  threshold,  the 
ape  also  halted.  His  master  retreated  to  the  rear  of 
the  room  still  calling,  but  to  the  ape  there  was  some- 
thing  portentously   familiar   in   this    proceeding.     It 

251 


252  THE   YOKE 

hinted  of  imprisonment.  Turning  as  though  pursued, 
he  disappeared  up  an  acacia  tree  from  which  he  could 
not  be  dislodged.  With  a  vexed  exclamation,  Ken- 
kenes  passed  out  of  the  court  into  the  house,  slamming 
the  swinging  door  so  sharply  that  it  sprang  open  again 
after  him.  As  the  old  portress  put  back  the  outer 
doors  leading  into  the  street,  that  her  young  master 
might  go  forth,  a  shadow  quick  as  thought  slipped 
out  after  him.  The  old  portress  clapped  her  hands 
with  a  shrill  command  but  the  shadow  was  gone. 

Once  more  in  his  work-day  dress,  his  wallet  of 
tools  and  provisions  across  his  shoulder,  the  young 
sculptor  passed  toward  the  Nile,  moody  and  unhappy 
but  determined.  At  the  river-side  he  hired  the  shallow 
bari  that  had  given  him  faithful  service  for  so  long, 
and  receiving  the  oars  from  Sepet,  the  boatman,  pre- 
pared to  push  away.  At  that  moment,  Anubis,  tremu- 
lous but  unrepentant,  bounded  in  beside  him. 

"Anubis !"  Kenkenes  exclaimed.  "Of  a  truth  I  be- 
lieve thou  art  possessed  of  the  arts  of  magic.  Now, 
if  thou  art  lost  in  the  hills  and  devoured  by  a 
wolf,  upon  thine  own  head  be  it.  Pull  in  that  paw, 
before  thou  becomest  a  foolish  sacrifice  to  the  sacred 
crocodile.  I  wonder  thy  self-respect  does  not  keep  thee 
from  coming  when  thou  art  unwelcome."  And  sub- 
siding into  silence,  the  sculptor  turned  toward  Ma- 
saarah. 

He  made  a  landing  below  the  stone  wharf,  for  there 
a  two-oared  bari  was  already  drawn  up,  and  the  tangle 
of  herbage  was  a  safe  hiding-place  for  his  own  boat. 
He  looked  toward  the  quarry  and  hesitated.  He  had 
no  heart  yet  to  face  her,  who  had  laid  his  crudest 
sorrow  on  him.     He  would  continue  his  work  on  Athor 


IN    THE   DESERT     ,  253 

until  he  had  gathered  assurance  from  that  unforbidding 
face. 

His  light  foot  made  no  sound  and  he  entered  the 
niche  silently.  Kneeling  on  the  chipped  stone  at  the 
base  of  the  statue,  her  face  against  the  drapings,  her 
arms  clasping  its  knees,  was  Rachel.  In  one  hand 
was  the  collar  of  rings.  She  had  not  heard  the  sculp- 
tor's approach. 

For  an  instant  his  surprise  transfixed  him.  Had 
she  repented?  A  great  wave  of  compassion  and  ten- 
derness swept  over  him  and  he  drew  her  face  away 
between  his  palms.  With  a  terrified  start,  the  girl 
turned  a  swift  glance  upward.  When  she  recognized 
Kenkenes  her  tearful  face  colored  vividly.  Her 
posture  was  such  that  she  could  not  rise,  and  with  in- 
finite gentleness  he  lifted  her  to  her  feet. 

"What  is  it,  Rachel  ?    Art  thou  in  trouble  ?" 

Joy  and  maidenly  confusion  took  away  her  voice. 

"Alas,"  he  went  on  sadly.  "Am  I  so  fallen  from  thy 
favor,  shut  out  and  denied  thy  confidence  ?" 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  protested.  "Think  not  so  harshly 
of  me.  I  am — I  came — "  she  faltered  and  paused. 
He  did  not  help  or  spare  her.  He  had  come  to  learn 
why  she  had  done  this  thing,  why  she  had  said  that, 
and  why  she  had  repulsed  him  without  explanation, 
when  there  was  unmistakable  preference  for  him  in 
her  unstudied  acts.  He  held  his  peace  and  waited  for 
her  to  proceed.  Meanwhile  Rachel  suffered  cruelly. 
She  had  no  thought  in  her  mind  concerning  her  con- 
duct toward  him.  It  was  the  shameful  event  of  the 
morning,  which  must  be  told  to  explain  her  presence 
before  Athor,  that  made  her  cover  her  crimson  face 
at  last.     Kenkenes  silenced  the  protests  of  his  gal- 


254  THE   YOKE 

lantry,  and  drawing  her  hands  away,  lifted  her  face 
on  the  tips  of  his  fingers  and  waited. 

While  they  stood  thus,  Deborah,  exhausted  and  pray- 
ing, staggered  into  the  inclosure. 

"Rachel!"  she  panted.  "The  serving-men — thou 
art  pursued !"  The  fat  courier,  purple  of  countenance 
and  breathing  hard,  appeared  in  the  opening.  Rachel 
shrank  against  Kenkenes  and  Deborah  dropped  on 
her  knees  between  the  pair  and  the  servitor. 

"Out  of  the  way,  hag!"  the  man  puffed.  "Let  me 
at  yon  slave.  Out!"  He  struck  at  Deborah  with 
a  short  mace  but  Kenkenes  caught  his  arm  and  thrust 
him  aside. 

"Go,  go  back  to  the  camp,"  he  said  to  the  old  woman. 
"No  harm  shall  befall  Rachel."  Raising  her,  he  put 
her  behind  him,  and  advanced  toward  the  courier. 

"Hast  thou  words  with  me  ?"  he  said  coolly.  "What 
wilt  thou  ?" 

"The  girl.     Give  her  up !" 

"Nay,  but  thou  art  peremptory.  What  wilt  thou 
with  her?" 

"For  the  harem  of  the  Pharaoh's  chief  adviser," 
the*  man  retorted. 

The  blood  in  Kenkenes'  veins  seemed  to  become 
molten ;  flashes  of  fierce  light  blinded  him  and  his 
sinews  hardened  into  iron.  He  bounded  forward  and 
his  fingers  buried  themselves  in  soft  and  heated  flesh. 

The  first  glimmer  of  reason  through  his  murderous 
insanity  was  the  consciousness  of  a  rain.of  blows  upon 
his  head  and  shoulders,  and  a  blackening  face  settling 
back  to  the  earth  before  him. 

He  released  his  grip  on  the  throat  of  the  strangling 
servitor  and  flung  off  his  other  assailants.     For  a 


IN    THE   DESERT  255 

moment,  stunned  by  the  hard  usage  at  the  hands  of  the 
reinforcing  men,  he  staggered,  and  seemed  about 
to  succumb.  The  men  pursued  him  to  finish  their 
work,  but  as  he  eluded  them,  it  seemed  that  a  third 
person — a  woman  all  in  white  with  extended  arms — 
came  into  their  view. 

Kenkenes  saw  the  foremost,  a  tall  Nubian  in  a 
striped  tunic,  stop  in  his  tracks,  and  the  second,  smaller 
and  lighter  but  a  Nubian  also,  following  immediately 
behind,  bumped  against  his  fellow. 

Mouths  agape,  eyes  staring,  they  stood  and  mar- 
veled. The  strange  presence,  they  discovered  at  once, 
was  neither  a  human  being  nor  an  apparition.  It  was 
stone — a  statue. 

"Sacrilege!"  the  first  exploded.  "A — a — by  Amen, 
it  is  the  slave  herself !" 

In  the  little  pause,  Kenkenes  recovered  himself,  but 
he  knew  that  he  gave  Rachel  to  her  fate,  if  the  pair 
overcame  him.  He  caught  her  hand  and  with  the 
whispered  word,  "Run !"  fled  with  her  toward  the 
front  of  the  cliff  facing  the  Nile.  It  was  a  desperate 
chance  for  escape  but  he  seized  it. 

Immediately  they  were  pursued  and  at  the  brink  of 
the  hill,  overtaken.  The  stake  was  too  large  for  the 
young  artist  to  risk  its  loss  by  adhering  to  the  un- 
written rules  of  combat.  He  released  Rachel,  whirled 
about,  and  as  the  foremost  descended  on  him,  ducked, 
seized  the  man  about  the  middle,  and  pitched  him 
head-first  down  into  the  valley.  The  second,  the 
tall  Nubian  that  wore  the  striped  tunic,  halted,  dis- 
mayed, and  Kenkenes,  catching  Rachel's  hand,  pre- 
pared to  descend.  But  she  checked  him  with  a  cry. 
"Look !" 


256  THE   YOKE 

His  eyes  followed  her  outstretched  arm.  At  regular 
intervals  along  the  Nile,  the  distant  figures  of  men 
were  seen  posted.  Escape  was  cut  off.  He  mounted 
to  the  top  of  the  cliff  and  led  Rachel  out  of  view  from 
the  river.  The  second  man  retreated,  and  raged  from 
afar.  The  sculptor  turned  up  the  shingly  slope  toward 
the  sun-white  ridge  of  higher  hills  inland.  Here,  he 
would  hide  with  Rachel,  till  his  strength  returned  and 
the  ache  left  his  head  clear  to  plan  a  safe  escape.  The 
Nubian  called  on  all  the  gods  to  annihilate  them  and 
started  in  pursuit.  The  sculptor  did  not  pause,  and, 
emboldened  by  the  indifference  of  the  man  he  dogged, 
the  pursuer  drew  near  and  made  menacing  demonstra- 
tions. Kenkenes  had  no  desire  to  be  followed.  He 
bade  Rachel  wait  for  him  and  approached  the  Nubian. 

"Now,"  he  began  coolly,  "thou  art  unwelcome,  like- 
wise, insolent.  Also  art  thou  a  fool,  but  it  is  an  arch- 
idiot  indeed  that  lacketh  caution.  This  maiden  is  be- 
loved of  all  the  Israelites.  Thou  art  one  man,  and  alone. 
It  would  not  be  safe  for  thee  to  attempt  to  take  her 
without  help  even  across  that  little  space  between  Ma- 
saarah  and  the  Nile.  I  should  harass  thee  with  others 
within  call.  Do  thou  save  thyself  and  send  the  chief 
adviser  after  her.     I  would  treat  with  him  also." 

The  Nubian  backed  away  and  Kenkenes  followed 
him  relentlessly  until  the  man,  overcome  with  trepida- 
tion, took  to  his  heels  and  fled. 

Even  then,  Kenkenes  did  not  lessen  his  vigilance. 
He  caught  up  Anubis,  who  had  bounded  beside  him 
during  the  entire  time,  and  running  back  to  Rachel, 
turned  into  the  limestone  wastes. 

Kenkenes  had  risked  his  suggestions  to  the  single 
Nubian,  and  their  effect  upon  him  gave  the  young 


IN    THE   DESERT  257 

sculptor  some  hope  that  the  pursuing  force  had  been 
limited  to  these  three.  Though  the  men  along  the 
Nile  were  not  within  call,  they  would  prevent  flight 
into  Memphis,  and  the  camp  of  the  Israelites,  if  not 
similarly  picketed,  would  offer  security  only  for  the 
moment.  Why  had  not  the  Hebrews  protected  her 
in  the  beginning?  He  would  get  to  a  place  of  perfect 
safety  first  and  learn  all  concerning  this  matter. 

After  an  hour's  cautious  dodging  from  shelter  to 
shelter,  through  the  masses  of  rocks,  they  toiled  up 
the  great  ridge  of  hills  deep  into  the  desert.  Rachel 
would  have  gone  on  and  on,  but  Kenkenes  drew  her 
into  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  and  stopped  to  listen. 
The  oppressive  silence  was  unbroken.  Far  and  near 
only  gray  wastes  of  hills  heaved  in  heated  solitude 
about  them. 

"Sit  here  in  the  shadow  and  rest,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  weary  girl  beside  him.     "I  shall  keep  watch." 

He  cleared  a  space  for  her  among  the  debris  at  the 
base  of  the  great  fragment  and  pressed  her  down  in  the 
place  he  had  made.  Next  he  undid  his  belt  and  fastened 
Anubis  to  a  boulder,  too  heavy  for  the  ape  to  move. 
The  animal  resented  the  confinement,  and  Kenkenes, 
tying  him  by  force,  found  in  the  forepaws  the  collar 
of  golden  rings.  With  a  murmur  of  satisfaction,  the 
young  man  reclaimed  the  necklace  and  thrust  it  into 
the  bosom  of  his  dress. 

When  he  arose  the  day  grew  dark  before  him,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  steady  himself  against  the  rock 
till  the  vertigo  passed.  His  assailants  had  hurt  him 
more  than  he  had  thought.  But  he  took  up  his  vigil 
and  maintained  it  faithfully  till  all  sense  of  danger 
had  vanished. 


258  THE   YOKE 

Rachel,  who  had  been  watching  his  face,  touched 
his  hand  at  last,  and  bade  him  rest.  The.  invitation 
was  welcome  and  with  a  sigh  he  sank  down  beside  her. 

"Lie  down,"  she  said  softly.  "Thou  hast  been  most 
cruelly  misused.     And  all  for  me !" 

Obediently,  he  slipped  from  a  sitting  to  a  recumbent 
posture.  She  put  out  her  arm,  and  supporting  him, 
seemed  about  to  take  his  head  into  her  lap.  Instead, 
she  slipped  the  mantle  from  the  strap  that  bound  it 
across  his  shoulders,  and  rolling  it  swiftly,  made  a 
pillow  of  it  for  his  head. 

The  wallet  that  had  hung  by  the  same  strap  over 
his  shoulder,  attracted  her  attention  and  she  guessed 
that  it  had  been  used  as  a  carrier  for  provision.  She 
laid  it  open  and  took  out  the  water-bottle.  The  pith- 
stopper  had  held,  during  all  the  violent  motion,  and 
the  dull  surface  of  the  porous  and  ever-cooling  pottery 
was  cold  and  wet. 

She  put  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and,  after  he  had  drunk, 
bathed  his  bruises  most  tenderly. 

Succumbing  to  the  gentle  influence  of  her  fingers, 
he  put  up  his  hands  to  take  them,  but  they  moved  out 
of  his  reach  in  the  most  natural  manner  possible.  He 
could  not  feel  that  she  had  purposely  avoided  his  touch, 
but  he  made  no  further  attempt  when  the  soothing 
fingers  returned.  Finally  he  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow  and  supported  his  head  in  his  hand. 

"Now  am  I  new  again,"  he  said ;  "once  more  ready 
to  help  thee.  Let  us  take  counsel  together  and  get  into 
safety  and  comfort."  He  paused  a  moment  till  his  se- 
rious words  would  not  follow  with  unseeming  prompt- 
ness upon  his  light  tone.  ^ 

"I  know  thy  trouble,  Rachel,"  he  began  again  sober- 


IN   THE   DESERT  259 

ly.  "There  is  no  need  that  thou  s'houldst  hurt  thyself 
by  the  telling-.  But  there  are  details  which  would  be 
helpful  in  aiding  thee  if  I  had  them  in  mind.  Thou 
knowest  better  than  I.  Wilt  thou  aid  me  ?" 

Her  golden  head  drooped  till  her  face  was  bowed 
upon  her  hands.  After  a  little  silence  she  answered 
him,  her  voice  low  with  shame. 

"This  man  sought  to  take  me  before,  at  Pa-Ramesu, 
but  Atsu  learned  of  it  in  time  and  sent  me  to  Masaarah. 
This  morning  I  met  him  again — "  She  paused,  and 
Kenkenes  aided  her. 

"Aye,  I  can  guess — poor  affronted  child !" 

"Atsu  meant  to  escape  with  me  again,  but  the  ser- 
vants of  the  nobleman  came  before  we  could  get 
away." 

Kenkenes  knew  by  her  choice  of  words  that  she  did 
not  know  the  name  of  her  persecutor,  and  he  did  not 
tell  her  what  it  was.  He  could  not  bear  the  name  of 
Har-hat  on  her  lips.    She  went  on,  after  a  little  silence. 

"I  came — "  she  began,  coloring  deeply,  "to  leave  thy 
collar  with  the  statue — I  did  not  expect  to  find*  thee 
there." 

How  little  it  takes  to  dispirit  a  lover!  How  could 
he  know  that  any  thought  had  led  her  to  do  that  thing 
save  an  impulse  actuated  by  indifference  or  real  dis- 
like ?  His  hope  was  immediately  reduced  to  the  lowest 
ebb.  The  mention  of  the  taskmaster's  name  brought 
forward  the  probability  of  a  rival. 

"I  can  take  thee  back  to  Atsu,"  he  said  slowly. 
"These  menials  will  not  remain  in  the  hills  after  sunset, 
and  under  cover  of  night  I  can  slip  thee,  by  strategy, 
past  any  sentries  they  may  have  set  and  get  thee  to 
Atsu.  I,  by  my  sacrilege,  and  he  by  his  insubordination, 


m 

260  THE   YOKE 

are  both  under  ban  of  the  law,  but  danger  with  him  will 
be  sweeter  danger  than  peril  with  me,  I  doubt  not." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  the  hurt  that  began  to  show 
on  her  face  gave  place  to  puzzlement. 

"Is  it  not  so?"  he  asked  with  a  bitter  smile.  "The 
companionship  of  one's  beloved  works  wonders  out  of 
heavy  straits !" 

"But — .  Dost  thou — ?  Atsu  is  naught  to  me,"  she 
cried,  her  grave  face  brightening. 

The  blood  surged  back  to  his  cheeks  and  the  life  into 
his  eyes.  He  leaned  toward  her,  ready  to  ask  for  more 
enlightenment  concerning  her  conduct,  when  she  went 
on  dreamily:  "But  he  is  wondrous  kind  and  hath 
made  the  camp  bright  with  his  humanity.  Israel  lov- 
eth  Atsu." 

Kenkenes  turned  again  to  the  perplexity  in  hand. 

"I  came  this  morning  to  ask  thy  permission  to  give 
thee  thy  freedom.  I  doubt  not  Israel  of  Masaarah, 
hidden  in  a  niche  in  the  hills,  does  not  dream  that  it  is 
the  plan  of  the  Pharaoh — nay,  the  heir  to  the  crown  of 
Egypt  by  the  mouth  of  the  Pharaoh — to  exterminate 
the  Hebrews."    Rachel  recoiled  from  him. 

"What  sayest  thou  ?"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  sharp 
with  terror. 

"Nay,  forgive  me!"  he  said  penitently.  "So  intent 
was  I  on  thy  rescue  that  I  forgot  to  soften  my  words. 
Let  it  be.    It  is  said ;  I  would  it  were  not  true." 

Her  affright  was  only  momentary,  for  her  faith  re- 
stored her  ere  his  last  words  were  spoken. 

"It  will  not  come  to  pass,"  she  declared.  "Jehovah 
will  not  suffer  it.  Thou  shalt  see — and  let  the  Pharaoh 
beware!"    Her  words  were  vehement  and  she  offered 


» 


THE   DESERT  261 


no  argument.  She  saw  no  need  of  it,  since  her  belief, 
merely  expressed,  had  the  force  of  fact  with  her. 

"I  am  committed  to  the  cause  of  Israel — that  thou 
knowest,  Rachel,"  Kenkenes  made  answer.  After  an- 
other silence  he  took  up  the  thread  of  his  talk. 

"If  thy  danger  from  this  man  were  set  aside  I  should 
not  return  thee  to  the  camp,  even  if  there  were  no  doom 
spoken  upon  Israel.  I  would  have  thee  free ;  I  would 
have  thee  in  luxury,  sheltered  in  my  father's  house — 
I  would—" 

"Thou  dost  paint  a  picture  that  mocks  me  now,  O 
Kenkenes,"  she  broke  in  on  his  growing  fervor. 
"Doubly  am  I  enslaved,  and  the  safety  of  Masaarah 
and  Memphis  is  no  more  for  me." 

"Thou  hast  said,"  he  answered  in  a  subdued  voice. 
"It  was  given  me  last  night  to  win  favor  with  the 
Pharaoh  for  thy  sake,  but  the  need  of  that  favor  fell 
before  it  was  won.  But  I  despair  not.  What  is  thy 
pleasure,  Rachel?  Shall  I  take  thee  to  Atsu,  or  wilt 
thou  stay  with  me  ?" 

"This  nobleman  will  know  of  a  surety  that  Atsu  is 
my  friend,  but  he  must  guess  the  other  Egyptian  who 
hath  helped  me.  If  I  go  to  Atsu  I  take  certain  danger 
to  him ;  if  I  stay  with  thee  the  peril  must  wander  ere  it 
overtakes  us.  But  I  would  not  burden  either.  Is 
there  no  other  way  ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  lies  between  me  and  Atsu  to 
care  for  you,  and  the  peril  for  you  and  for  us  is  equal. 
My  name  is  as  good  as  published,  for  I  am  gifted  with 
a  length  of  limb  beyond  my  fellows.  I  was  found  be- 
fore the  statue  and  they,  describing  me  to  the  priests, 
will  prove  to  the  priests,  who  know  my  calling,  that 


262  THE   YOKE 

the  son  of  Mentu  has  committed  sacrilege.  And  the 
priesthood  would  not  wait  till  dawn  to  take  me." 

"I  will  stay  with  thee,  Kenkenes,"  she  said  simply. 

He  became  conscious  of  the  collar  on  his  breast  and 
drew  it  forth. 

"With  this,"  he  began,  assuming  a  lightness,  "I  fear  I 
gave  thee  offense  one  day  and  thou  hast  held  it  against 
me.  Now  let  me  heal  that  wound  and  sweeten  thy 
regard  for  me  with  this  same  offending  trinket.  Wilt 
thou  take  it  as  a  peace-offering  from  my  hands  and 
wear  it  always?"  She  bent  toward  him  and,  with 
worshiping  hands,  he  put  aside  the  loosened  braids 
and  clasped  the  necklace  about  her  throat. 

"There  are  ten  rings,"  he  continued.  "Let  them 
be  named  thus,"  telling  them  off  with  his  fingers. 
"This  first  of  all — Hope — it  shall  be  thy  stay;  this 
— Faith — it  shall  comfort  thee;  this — Good  Works — 
it  shall  publish  thee ;  this — Sacrifice — it  shall  win  thee 
many  victories ;  this — Chastity — it  shall  be  thy  name ; 
the  next — Wisdom — it  shall  guide  thee ;  after  it — 
Steadfastness — it  shall  keep  thee  in  all  these  things; 
Truth — it  shall  brood  upon  thy  lips;  Beauty — it  shall 
not  perish ;  this,  the  last,  is  Love,  of  which  there  is 
naught  to  be  said.    It  speaketh  for  itself." 

Their  eyes  met  at  his  last  words  and  for  a  moment 
dwelt.    Then  Rachel  looked  away. 

"Are  the  fastenings  secure  ?"  she  asked. 

"Firm  as  the  virtues  in  a  good  woman's  soul." 

"They  will  hold.    I  would  not  lose  one  of  them." 

A  long  silence  fell.  The  curious  activity  of  desert- 
life,  interrupted  for  the  time  by  the  presence  of  the 
fugitives,  resumed  its  tenor  and  droned  on  about  them. 


THE   DESERT  263 


The  rasping  grasshopper,  the  darting  lizard,  the 
scorpion  creeping  among  the  rocks,  a  high-flying  bird, 
a  small,  skulking,  wild  beast  put  sound  and  movement 
in  the  desolation  of  the  region.  The  horizon  was 
marked  by  undulating  hills  to  the  west ;  to  the  east,  by 
sharper  peaks.  The  scant  growth  was  blackened  or 
partly  covered  with  sand,  and  it  fringed  the  distant 
uplands  like  a  stubbly  beard.  The  little  ravines  were 
darkened  with  hot  shadows,  but  the  bald  slopes  pre- 
sented areas,  shining  with  infinitesimal  particles  of 
quartz  and  mica,  to  a  savage  sun  and  an  almost  unen- 
durable sky.  From  somewhere  to  the  barren  north  the 
wind  came  like  a  breath  of  flame,  ash-laden  and  dry- 
ing. There  was  nothing  of  the  cool,  damp  river 
breeze  in  this.  They  were  in  the  hideous  heart  of  the 
desert  to  whom  death  was  monotony,  resisting  foreign 
life,  an  insult. 

The  two  in  the  shortening  shadow  of  the  great  rock 
were  glad  of  the  water-bottle.  The  necessity  of  com- 
fortable shelter  for  Rachel  began  to  appeal  urgently  to 
Kenkenes.  He  put  aside  his  dreams  and  thought  aloud. 

"What  cover  may  I  offer  thy  dear  head  this  night  ?" 
he  began.  "We  may  not  return  to  the  camp,  for  there 
of  a  surety  they  lie  in  wait  for  us.  Toora  is  deserted 
and  so  tempting  a  spot  for  fugitives  that  it  will  be 
searched  immediately.  Not  a  hovel  this  side  of  the 
Nile  but  will  be  visited.  I  would  take  thee  to  my 
father—" 

"Nay,"  she  said  firmly.  "I  will  take  affliction  to 
none  other.  Already  have  I  undone  two  of  the  best  of 
Egypt.    I  will  carry  the  distress  no  further." 

After  a  silence  he  began  again. 


264  THE   YOKE 

"How  far  wilt  thou  trust  in  me,  Rachel  ?" 

She  raised  her  face  and  looked  at  him  with  serious 
eyes. 

"In  all  things  needful  which  thou,  wilt  require  of 
me." 

"And  thou  canst  sleep  this  night  in  an  open  boat?" 

She  nodded. 

"To-morrow,  then,"  he  continued,  taking  her  hand, 
"we  shall  reach  Nehapehu,  where  I  can  hide  thee  with 
some  of  the  peasantry  on  my  father's  lands.  And  there 
thou  canst  abide  until  I  go  to  Tape  and  return. 

"Thou  must  know,"  he  continued,  explaining,  "the 
Athor  of  the  hills  is  not  my  first  sacrilege.  Once  I 
committed  a  worse.  My  father  was  the  royal  sculptor 
to  Rameses  and  is  now  Meneptah's  murket."  Rachel 
glanced  at  him  shyly  and  sought  to  withdraw  her  hand, 
for  she  recognized  the  loftiness  of  the  title.  But  he 
retained  his  clasp.  "He  is  a  mighty  genius.  He 
planned  and  executed  Ipsambul.  For  that,  which  is 
the  greatest  monument  to  Rameses,  the  Incompara- 
ble Pharaoh  loved  him,  and  while  the  king  lived  my 
father  was  overwhelmed  with  his  favors.  Nor  did  the 
royal  sculptor's  good  fortune  wane,  as  is  the  common 
fate  of  favorites,  for  the  great  king  planned  that  my 
father's  house  should  be  honored  even  after  his  death 
though  the  dynasties  change.  So  Rameses  gave  him 
a  signet  of  lapis  lazuli,  and  its  inscription  commanded 
him  who  sat  at  any  time  thereafter  on  the  throne  of 
Egypt  to  honor  the  prayer  of  its  bearer  in  the  un- 
speakable name  of  the  Holy  One. 

"After  the  death  of  Rameses,"  the  narrator  went 
on,  "we  went  to  Tape,  my  father  and  I,  to  inscribe  the 
hatchments  and  carve  the  scene  of  the  Judgment  of  the 


IN   THE   DESERT  265 

Dead  in  the  tomb  of  the  great  king.  Now,  I  am  my 
father's  only  child  and  have  been  taught  his  craft.  I 
have  been  an  apt  pupil,  and  he  had  no  fear  in  trusting 
me  with  the  execution  of  the  fresco.  I  had  long  been 
in  rebellion,  practising  in  secret  my  lawless  ideas,  and 
I  was  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  aversion  to  mar- 
ring those  holy  walls  with  the  conventional  ugliness 
commanded  by  the  ritual.  I  assembled  my  ideas  and 
dared.  I  worked  rapidly  and  well.  The  work  was 
done  before  my  father  discovered  it."  Kenkenes 
paused  and  laughed  a  little. 

"Suffice  it  to  say  the  fresco  was  erased.  And  the 
solemnity  of  the  crypt  was  hardly  restored  before  my 
father  found  that  his  sacred  signet,  which  he  always 
wore,  was  gone.  Nay,  nay,  I  might  not  search  for  it 
more  than  the  fruitless  once,  for  he  declared,  and  of 
a  truth  believed  firmly,  that  the  great  king  had  re- 
claimed his  gift.  I  did  not  and  never  have  I  believed 
it.  Now  I  need  the  signet  and  I  shall  go  after  it  on 
the  strength  of  that  belief. 

"Having  found  it,  I  shall  appeal  to  Meneptah  for  thy 
liberty  and  safety  and  whatever  boon  thou  wouldst 
have  and  for  myself.  What  thinkest  thou?  Shall  I 
go  on  ?" 

Rachel  smiled  and  looked  up  at  him  gratefully. 

"I  will  go  with  thee,  Kenkenes,"  she  said. 

Her  ready  confidence  and  the  easiness  of  his  name  on 
her  lips  filled  him  with  joy.  "Ah!  ye  ungentle  Ha- 
thors !"  he  mourned  to  himself,  "why  may  I  not  tell 
her  how  much  I  love  her  ?" 

But  the  white  hand  which  he  pressed  against  his 
breast  asked  its  release  with  gentle  reluctance,  and  he 
set  it  free. 


266  THE   YOKE 

Once  again  the  silence  fell  and  was  not  frequently 
broken  thereafter. 

There  was  no  invitation  in  her  manner,  and  he  could 
not  speak  what  he  would. 

The  sun  dropped  behind  the  Libyan  hills  and  the 
heights  filled  with  shadow.  At  length  he  said : 

"It  is  time." 

Lifting  her  to  her  feet,  the  ape  attending  them,  he 
went  toward  the  Nile,  hand  in  hand  with  Rachel,  his 
love  all  untold. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  TREASURE  CAVE 

The  sudden  night  had  just  fallen,  and  there  was  an 
incomplete  moon  in  the  west.  But  already  the  desert 
was  full  of  feeble  shadows  and  silver  interspaces,  and 
all  that  tense  silence  of  evening  upon  unpeopled  locali- 
ties. 

Kenkenes  stood  upon  the  top  of  a  huge  monolith, 
listening.  Below,  with  only  her  face  in  the  faint  moon- 
light, was  Rachel,  looking  up  to  him.  Anubis,  op- 
pressed by  the  voiceless  expectancy  of  the  two  young 
people,  crouched  at  his  master's  feet.  For  a  while 
there  was  only  the  ringing  turmoil  of  his  own  quick- 
ened blood  in  the  young  man's  ears.  But  presently, 
up  from  the  southern  slope,  rose  the  sound  he  had 
heard  some  minutes  before — a  long,  quavering  note, 
ending  in  a  high  eery  wail. 

Kenkenes  was  familiar  with  the  screams  of  wild 
beasts,  and  he  knew  the  irreconcilable  differences  be- 
tween them  and  the  human  voice.  Instantly  he  sent 
back  across  the  hollow  a  strong  reply  that  the  startled 
echoes  repeated  again  and  again.  Almost  immediately 
the  first  cry  was  repeated,  but  a  desperate  power  had 
entered  into  it.  Kenkenes  dropped  from  his  point  of 
vantage. 

267 


268  THE   YOKE 

"Some  one  calleth,  of  a  surety,"  he  said,  "and  by  the 
voice,  it  is  a  woman." 

"It  is  Deborah  come  up  from  the  camp  to  seek  for 
me !"  Rachel  exclaimed. 

"I  doubt  not.  But  the  gods  are  surely  with  her,  to 
fend  the  beasts  from  her  in  this  savage  place.  It  is 
well  we  came  this  way." 

With  all  the  haste  possible  on  the  rough  slope,  they 
descended.  The  ground  was  familiar  to  Kenkenes,  for 
the  niche  was  near  the  foot  of  the  declivity. 

Half-way  down  he  called  again,  and  the  answer 
came  up  from  the  hiding-place  of  Athor.  In  another 
moment  they  were  within  and  beside  the  prostrate  form 
of  the  old  Israelite.  Rachel  dropped  on  her  knees, 
crying  out  in  her  solicitude.  Her  words  were  in  the 
soft  language  of  her  own  people  and  unintelligible  to 
Kenkenes,  but  her  voice  trembled  with  concern.  The 
old  woman  answered  soothingly  and  at  some  length. 
The  narrative  was  frequently  broken  by  low  exclama- 
tions from  Rachel,  and  at  its  end  the  girl  turned  to 
Kenkenes  with  a  sob  of  anger. 

"The  Lord  God  break  them  in  pieces  and  His  fury 
be  upon  them!"  she  cried.  "They  set  upon  her  and 
beat  her  and  left  her  to  the  jackals !" 

"Set  consume  them!"  Kenkenes  responded  wrath- 
fully.  "How  came  they  upon  you?  Did  you  not  re- 
turn to  camp?" 

"Nay,  the  mother  heart  in  me  would  not  suffer  me 
to  desert  Rachel.  I  stayed  without  this  place,  and  ye 
outstripped  me  when  ye  fled.  After  a  time  the  fat 
servitor,  rousing  out  of  his  swoon,  came  forth  from 
here,  and  another,  who  had  been  lurking  in  the  rocks, 
joined  him,  and  the  pair,  in  searching  for  you,  dis- 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  269 

covered  me  and  beat  me  with  maces,  leaving  me  for 
dead." 

After  a  grim  silence,  broken  only  by  the  low  weeping 
of  Rachel,  Kenkenes  bade  her  continue. 

"The  search  they  made  for  you  was  not  thorough, 
for  one  was  ill  and  both  were  afraid.  But  they  came 
upon  the  statue  again,  and  the  sight  of  it  mocked  them, 
so  they  overthrew  it  and  broke  it." 

Kenkenes  drew  a  sharp  breath  and  glanced  at  the 
place  where  Athor  should  have  been.  Except  for 
themselves,  the  niche  was  evidently  vacant.  The  old 
woman  continued : 

"Then  they  descended  into  the  camp  of  Israel.  After 
a  time  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices  as  if  there  were 
many  men  in  the  hills,  and  the  heart  of  me  was  afraid. 
With  much  pain  and  travail  I  crept  into  this  place, 
and  here  sounds  come  but  faintly.  But  I  heard  suf- 
ficient to  know  that  there  were  many  who  sought  dili- 
gently, but  whether  they  were  our  own  people  or  the 
minions  of  thine  enemy,  Rachel,  I  could  not  with 
safety  discover." 

"Said  they  aught  concerning  their  intents — this  pair, 
who  set  upon  you?"  Kenkenes  asked. 

"O,  aye,  they  blustered,  and  if  they  bring  half  of 
their  threats  to  pass,  it  will  go  ill  with  thee,  Egyptian. 
They  will  set  the  priests  upon  thee  immediately;  the 
hills  will  be  searched ;  the  Nile  will  be  picketed.  It 
behooves  thee  to  have  a  care  for  thyself.  As  for  Ra- 
chel, I  know  not  what  will  become  of  her.  She  is 
penned  out  in  the  desert,  for  the  camp  is  to  be  watched, 
and  they  boast  that  the  hunt  will  end  only  with  her 
capture." 

"Let  them  look  to  it  that  it  does  not  end  with  the 


270  THE  YOKE 

choking  of  the  swine  who  inspired  it !    I  long  to  put 
him  beyond  the  cure  of  leeches." 

He  made  no  answer  to  Deborah's  words  concerning 
Rachel's  plight.  Deborah  had  disarranged  his  plans. 
He  could  not  take  the  old  woman,  grievously  wound- 
ed, on  the  long  journey  to  Nehapehu,  and,  indeed,  had 
she  been  well,  his  small  boat  might  not  hold  together 
with  a  burden  of  three  for  a  distance  of  half  a  hundred 
miles.  For  a  moment  his  perplexity  baffled  his  in- 
genuity. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  cross  to  the  Mem- 
phian  shore  and  procure  a  larger  boat ;  but  what  would 
protect  his  helpless  charges  during  the  hours  of  ab- 
sence, or  in  case  he  were  taken?  He  realized  that  he 
dare  not  run  a  risk ;  his  every  movement  must  be  safe 
and  sure.  He  could  not  ask  the  wounded  Israelite  to 
return  to  the  camp  now,  seeing  that  she  had  suffered 
mistreatment  at  the  hands  of  Har-hat's  servants  and 
deserted  not. 

"If  there  were  but  a  grotto  in  the  rocks — a  cave  or  a 
tomb — "  he  stopped  and  smote  his  hands  together. 
"By  Apis!  I  have  it — the  Tomb  of  the  Discontented 
Soul!" 

He  turned  to  the  two  women,  who  had  talked  softly 
together  in  Hebrew,  and  spoke  lightly  in  his  relief. 

"We  have  shelter  for  this  night — safer  than  any 
other  place  in  all  Egypt.  Trouble  no  more  concerning 
that.  Let  me  hide  my  sacrilege  and  rob  them  of  in- 
disputable evidence  against  me,  and  then  we  shall  get 
to  our  refuge." 

He  lifted  Deborah  in  his  arms,  and  bearing  her  out 
into  the  open,  left  her  with  Rachel. 

Then  he  reentered  the  shadowy  niche.    The  night 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  271 

was  not  too  dark  to  show  the  interior.  Athor,  a  torso, 
broken  in  twain,  headless,  armless,  was  prostrate.  It 
had  been  pushed  over  against  the  great  cube  that 
sheltered  it  and  the  fall  against  the  hard  limestone  had 
ruined  it.  Kenkenes  clenched  his  hands  and  choked 
back  the  angry  tears.  To  the  artist  the  destruction 
partook  of  the  heinousness  of  murder,  of  the  pathos  of 
death.  He  set  about  concealing  the  wreck  with  all 
speed,  for  he  wished  to  be  merciful  to  his  eyes. 

He  collected  the  fragmentary  members,  and  carry- 
ing them  down  the  slope  a  little  way,  dug  a  grave  for 
them  in  the  sand.  To  the  trench  he  rolled  the  trunk 
on  the  tamarisk  cylinders,  and  buried  all  that  was  left 
of  Athor  the  Golden.  Over  the  grave  he  laid  a  flat 
stratum  of  rock  that  the  wind  might  not  uncover  the 
ruin. 

Returning  to  the  niche,  he  took  up  the  matting  with 
its  weight  of  chipped  stone,  and  went  down  through 
the  dark  to  the  line  of  rocks  opposite  the  quarries. 
There  he  permitted  the  rubble  to  slide  with  a  mixture 
of  earth,  like  a  natural  displacement,  into  the  talus,  of 
a  similar  nature,  at  the  base  of  the  cliff.  The  mat- 
ting he  shook  and  laid  aside.  It  would  serve  for  a  bed 
in  the  tomb  that  night. 

Then  he  destroyed  the  north  wall.  In  the  four 
months  of  its  existence  the  sand  had  banked  against  it 
more  than  half  its  height.  Each  stone  removed  in  the 
dismantling  was  carried  away  to  a  new  place,  until  the 
whole  fortification  was,  as  once  it  had  been,  scattered 
up  and  down  the  slope.  The  light,  dry  sand  he  pitched 
with  his  wooden  shovel  against  the  great  cube  until  it 
all  lay  where  the  wind  would  have  piled  it  had  no  sec- 
ond wall  stood  in  its  way.    By  dawn  the  strong  breeze 


272  THE   YOKE 

from  the  north  would  cover  every  footprint  and 
shovel-mark  to'  a  level  once  more.  He  went  again  to 
the  line  of  rocks  and  threw  the  shovel  with  a  sure  aim 
and  a  strong  arm  into  the  quarries  across  the  valley. 
To-morrow  it  would  seem  that  an  Israelite  had  for- 
gotten one  of  his  tools. 

The  work  was  done. 

With  an  ache  in  his  heart,  Kenkenes  returned  to 
Deborah  and  Rachel. 

"The  shelter  for  us  is  in  the  cliff  to  the  north,  near 
Toora,"  he  began  immediately.  "It  is  a  tomb,  but 
others  before  us  have  partaken  of  the  dead's  hospital- 
ity."* 

"How  am  I  to  reach  it?"  Deborah  asked.  "Is  the 
place  far?" 

"A  good  hour's  journey,  but  we  go  by  water.  Still, 
we  must  walk  to  the  Nile." 

"That  I  can  not  do,"  the  old  woman  declared. 

"Nay,  but  I  can  carry  you,"  Kenkenes  replied, 
bending  over  her.    She  shrank  away  from  him. 

"Thou  hast  forgotten,"  she  protested. 

"Not  so,"  he  insisted  stoutly.  Taking  her  up,  he 
settled  her  on  one  strong  arm  against  his  breast.  The 
free  hand  he  extended  to  Rachel,  who  had  taken  the 
matting,  and  together  they  went  laboriously  down  the 
steep  front  of  the  hill.  They  proceeded  cautiously, 
watching  before  and  behind  them  lest  they  be  sur- 
prised. 

He  had  covered  his  boat  well  with  the  tangle  of 

*The  tombs  of  the  Orient  in  ancient  times  were  common 
places  of  refuge  for  fugitives,  lepers  and  outcasts. 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  273 

sedge  and  marsh-vines,  and  after  a  long  space  of 
search,  he  found  it. 

Once  again  he  lifted  Deborah  and  laid  her  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  With  its  triple  burden,  the  bari 
sank  low  in  the  water,  but  Kenkenes  wielded  the  oars 
carefully.  The  faint  moonlight  showed  him  the  way. 
Now  and  then  a  red  glimmer  across  the  grain  marked 
the  location  of  a  farmer's  hut,  but  there  was  no  other 
sign  of  life.  Even  at  the  Memphian  shore  there  was 
little  activity. 

When  the  line  of  cultivation  ended  Kenkenes  knew 
he  was  in  the  precincts  of  the  Marsh  of  the  Discon- 
tented Soul.  He  rowed  across  what  he  believed  to  be 
one-half  of  its  width  and  drew  into  the  reeds.  The 
sound  and  movement  awoke  many  creatures,  which 
hurried  away  in  the  dark,  and  something  slid  off  into 
the  river  with  a  splash.  The  lapping  of  the  ripples 
sounded  like  a  drinking  beast.  Kenkenes  put  a  bold 
foot  on  the  soggy  sand  and  stepped  out.  Rachel  fol- 
lowed him  with  bated  breath.  Anubis  unceremonious- 
ly mounted  his  shoulder.  He  dragged  the  bari  far  up 
on  the  shore,  once  more  lifted  Deborah  and  started  up 
the  warm  sand. 

At  the  base  of  the  limestone  cliff  he  deposited  his 
burden  and  brought  together  a  little  heap  of  dried 
reeds  and  flag  blades.  This  he  fired  after  many  fail- 
ures by  striking  together  his  chisel  and  a  stone.  Rachel 
hid  the  blaze  from  the  Nile  while  he  made  and  lighted 
a  torch  of  twisted  reeds  and  stamped  out  the  fire.  In 
the  feeble  moonlight  he  discerned  a  stairway  of  rough- 
hewn  steps  leading  into  a  cavity  in  the  wall.  The 
southern  side  of  the  ascent  was  sheltered  by  an  out- 
standing buttress  of  rock. 


274  THE   YOKE 

He  put  the  torch  into  Rachel's  hand,  and,  taking  up 
Deborah,  climbed  a  dozen  steps  to  a  dark  opening  half- 
closed  by  a  fallen  door.  Pushing  the  obstruction  aside 
with  his  foot,  he  entered.  When  they  were  all  within 
he  closed  the  entrance  and  unrolled  the  reeds. 

There  was  a  helter-skelter  of  mice  past  them  and  a 
rustle  of  retiring  insects.  The  torch  blazed  brightly 
and  showed  him  a  squat  copper  lamp  on  the  floor  of 
the  outer  chamber.  The  vessel  contained  sandy  dregs 
of  oil  and  a  dirty  floss  of  cotton.  With  an  exclamation 
of  surprise  Kenkenes  lighted  the  wick,  and  after  a  lit- 
tle sputtering,  it  burned  smokily. 

"Nay,  now,  how  came  a  lamp  in  this  tomb?"  he 
asked  without  expecting  an  answer. 

The  chamber  was  low-roofed  and  small — the  whole 
interior  rough  with  chisel-marks.  To  the  eyes  of  the 
sculptor,  accustomed  to  the  gorgeous  frescoes  in  the 
tombs  of  the  Memphian  necropolis,  the  walls  looked 
bare  and  pitiful.  There  were  several  prayers  in  the 
ancient  hieroglyphics,  but  no  ancestral  records  or 
biographical  paintings.  Several  strips  of  linen  were 
scattered  over  the  floor,  with  the  customary  litter  of 
dried  leaves,  dust,  refuse  brought  by  rodents,  cobwebs 
and  the  cast-off  chrysalides  of  insects.  In  one  corner 
was  a  bronze  jar.  Kenkenes  examined  it  and  found  it 
contained  cocoanut-oil  for  burning. 

"Of  a  truth  this  is  intervention  of  the  gods,"  he 
commented,  a  little  dazed,  but  filling  his  lamp  never- 
theless. 

Ahead  of  him  was  a  black  opening  leading  into 
the  second  chamber.  He  stooped,  and  entering,  held 
the  lamp  above  his  head.  He  cried  out,  and  Rachel 
came  to  his  side. 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  275 

In  the  center  of  the  room  was  a  stone  sarcophagus 
of  the  early,  broad,  flat-topped  pattern.  In  one  corner 
was  a  two-seated  bari,  in  another  a  mattress  of  wo- 
ven reeds.  Leaning  against  the  sarcophagus  was 
a  wooden  rack  containing  several  earthenware  am- 
phorae; on  the  floor  about  it  was  a  touseled  litter  of 
waxed  outer  cerements  torn  from  mummies.  All  these 
things  they  observed  later.  Now  their  wide  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  top  of  the  coffin.  At  one  time  there  had 
been  a  dozen  linen  sacks  set  there,  but  the  mice  and 
insects  had  gnawed  most  of  them  away.  The  bottoms 
and  lower  halves  yet  remained,  forming  calyxes,  out 
of  which  tumbled  heaps  of  gold  and  silver  rings, 
zones,  bracelets,  collars  and  masks  from  sarcophagi — 
all  of  gold ;  images  of  Isis  in  lapis  lazuli  and  amethyst ; 
scarabs  in  garnets  and  hematite,  Khem  in  obsidian, 
Bast  in  carnelian,  Besa  in  serpentine,  signets  in  jas- 
per, and  ropes  of  diamonds  which  had  been  Babylo- 
nian gems  of  spoil. 

"The  plunder  of  Khafra  and  Sigur,  by  my  mummy !" 
Kenkenes  ejaculated. 

"Will  they  return?"  Rachel  asked,  in  a  voice  full  of 
fear. 

"They  are  gathered  to  Amenti  for  their  misdeeds 
many  months  agone,"  he  explained.  "See  how  thickly 
the  dust  lies  here  without  a  print  upon  it.  They  were 
tomb-robbers.  None  of  the  authorities  could  discover 
their  hiding-place,  and  lo !  here  it  is." 

He  walked  round  the  sarcophagus  and  found  at  the 
head,  on  the  floor,  several  bronze  cases  sealed  with 
pitch.  He  opened  one  of  them  with  some  difficulty. 
Flat  packages  wrapped  with  linen  lay  within. 

"Dried  gazelle-meat, — and  I  venture  there  is  wine  in 


276  THE   YOKE 

those  amphorae.  They  lived  here,  I  am  convinced, 
and  fed  upon  the  food  offerings  they  niched  from  the 
tombs.   Was  there  ever  such  intrepid  lawlessness  ?" 

"Here  is  a  snare  and  net,"  Rachel  reported. 

"Did  they  not  profit  by  superstition?  As  long  as 
they  were  here  they  were  safe.  They  did  not  fear  the 
spirit." 

"The  spirit?"  Deborah,  still  in  the  outer  chamber, 
repeated  with  interest. 

"The  spirit  of  this  tomb,"  Kenkenes  explained,  re- 
turning to  her.  In  a  few  words  he  told  her  the  story 
as  Hotep  had  told  it  to  him. 

"Canst  thou  discover  the  name  ?"  she  asked  when  he 
had  finished. 

"The  sarcophagus  is  plain.  There  is  no  inscription 
within  yonder  crypt,  for  I  have  this  moment  looked. 
But  let  me  examine  this  writing  here  by  the  door." 

After  a  while  he  spoke  again.  "The  name  is  not 
given.    It  says  only  this : 

'The  Spouse  to  Potiphar, 

Captain  of  the  Royal  Guard  to 

Apepa,  Child  of  the  Sun, 

In  the  Twelfth  Year  of  Whose  Luminous  Reign 

She  Died. 

Rejected  by  the  Forty-two  at  On,  because  of 

Unchastity, 

She  Lies  Here, 

Until  Admitted  to  the  Divine  Pardon  of  Osiris.'  " 

"Aye,  I  know,"  Deborah  responded.  "It  is  history 
to  the  glory  of  a  son  of  Abraham.  Him,  who  brought 
our  people  here,  she  would  have  tempted,  but  he  would 


THE   TREASURE    CAyE  277 

have  none  of  her.  Therefore  she  bore  false  witness 
against  him  and  he  was  thrust  into  prison. 

"But  the  God  of  Israel  does  not  suffer  for  ever  His 
chosen  to  be  unjustly  served,  and  he  was  finally  exalted 
over  Upper  and  Lower  Mizraim.  And  honor  and  long 
life  and  a  perfumed  memory  are  his,  and  she — lo !  she 
hath  done  one  good  thing.  Her  house  hath  become  a 
shelter  for  the  oppressed  and  for  that  may  she  find 
peace  at  last." 

Kenkenes  looked  at  the  old  woman  with  admiring 
eyes.  The  quaint  speech  of  the  Hebrews  had  always 
fascinated  him,  but  now  it  had  become  melody  in  his 
ears.  In  this,  the  first  moment  of  mental  idleness  since 
midday,  he  had  time  to  think  on  Deborah.  He  knew 
that  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  now  he  remembered 
that  it  was  she  who  had  transfixed  him  with  a  look  on 
an  occasion  when  Israel  had  first  come  to  Masaarah. 

But  he  did  not  remind  her  of  the  incident.  Instead, 
he  set  about  counteracting  any  effect  that  might  fol- 
low should  her  memory,  unaided,  recall  the  occurrence. 
He  had  put  her  down  on  the  matting,  and  the  running 
spiders  and  slower  insects  worried  her. 

"A  murrain  on  the  bugs,"  he  said.  "We  shall  have 
a  creepy  night  of  it.  Let  us  bottle  this  treasure  and  lay 
the  mattress  out  of  their  reach  on  the  sarcophagus. 
Endure  them  a  while,  Deborah,  till  we  make  thee  a 
refuge." 

He  set  the  lamp  in  the  opening  from  the  outer  into 
the  inner  crypt  and  entered  the  second  chamber.  Ra- 
chel followed  him,  and  the  old  Israelite  watched  them 
with  brilliant  eyes. 

Kenkenes  swept  the  jewels  as  if  they  had  been  al- 
monds into  an  empty  amphora  and  returned  it  to  the 


278  THE   YOKE 

rack.  The  mattress  he  laid  upon  the  broad  top  of  the 
sarcophagus. 

"A  line  of  oil  run  around  the  coffin  will  keep  the 
-insects  away,"  Rachel  ventured.  Kenkenes  returned 
to  the  outer  chamber  for  the  jar  of  oil,  but  Rachel  took 
it  from  him. 

"Let  me  be  thy  handmaid,"  she  said  softly. 

He  did  not  protest,  and  she  reentered  the  crypt. 

"Luckily  the  mattress  is  large  enough  for  the  two 
of  you,"  Kenkenes  observed  to  Deborah,  "but  it  will 
be  hard  sleeping." 

"The  Hebrews  are  not  spoiled  with  couches  of 
down,"  she  replied. 

"There  are  enough  of  the  wrappings  in  yonder  to 
take  off  the  hardness,  but  even  with  the  matting  over 
them  they  will  be  gruesome  things  to  sleep  upon. 
They  would  bewitch  your  dreams.  But  mayhap  ye 
will  not  suffer  from  one  night's  discomfort." 

"Where  go  we  to-morrow?" 

Kenkenes  did  not  answer  immediately.  Another  plan 
for  Rachel's  security  had  been  growing  in  his  mind, 
and  his  heart  leaped  at  the  prospect  of  its  acceptance 
by  her. 

"There  is  a  large  boat  here,  and  we  might  go  to 
On,"  he  began  at  last.  "There  is  one  way  possible  to 
save  Rachel  from  this  man  as  long  as  I  live,  and  I 
would  she  were  to  be  persuaded  into  accepting  the  con- 
ditions." 

"Name  them  and  let  me  judge." 

He  hesitated  for  proper  words  and  his  cheeks 
flushed.  Deborah  looked  at  him  with  comprehension 
in  her  gaze. 

"Rachel  is  not  blind  to  my  love  for  her,  and  thou, 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  279 

too,  art  discerning.  Yet  I  would  declare  myself.  I 
love  Rachel,  and  I  would  take  her  to  wife.  Then,  not 
even  the  Pharaoh  could  take  her  from  me  by  law." 

Deborah  raised  herself  with  difficulty,  and  after  peer- 
ing into  the  inner  chamber  t*o  see  where  Rachel  was, 
approached  him  softly. 

"Thou  lovest  Rachel.  Aye,  that  is  a  tale  I  have  heard 
oftener  than  I  have  fingers  to  count  upon.  From  the 
first  men  of  her  tribe  I  have  heard  it,  from  the  best 
of  Egypt  and  the  worst.  But  she  kept  her  heart  and 
stayed  by  my  side.  Now  thou  comest,  young,  comely, 
gifted  with  fair  speech  and  full  of  fervor.  Thou  lovest 
as  she  would  be  loved,  and  her  heart  goes  out  to  thee, 
even  as  thou  wouldst  have  it — in  love." 

Kenkenes'  face  glowed  and  his  fine  eyes  shone  with 
joy. 

"But  mark  thou !"  she  continued  passively.  "If 
thou  wouldst  save  her,  think  upon  some  other  way,  for 
thou  mayest  not  wed  her.  Jehovah  planteth  the  faith 
of  Abraham  anew  in  Israel.  In  Rachel  and  in  Rachel's 
house  it  died  not  during  the  hundred  years  of  the  bond- 
age. Therefore  the  name  is  godly.  Of  her,  what 
would  thy  heart  say?  Hath  she  not  beauty,  hath  she 
not  wisdom,  hath  she  not  great  winsomeness?  There 
is  none  like  her  in  these  days  among  all  the  children  of 
Abraham.  To  her  Israel  lookefh  for  example,  for, 
since  she  compelleth  by  her  grace,  those  who  behold 
her  will  consider  whatever  she  doeth  as  good.  Great 
is  the  reward  of  him  who  can  direct  and  directeth 
aright,  but  shall  he  not  appear  abominable  in  the  sight 
of  the  Lord  if  he  useth  his  power  to  lead  astray  ?  Lo ! 
if  she  wed  thee,  to  her  people  it  will  seem  that  she 
would  say :    'Behold,  this  man  is  fair  in  my  sight,  and 


280  THE   YOKE 

it  is  good  for  the  chosen  of  the  Lord  to  take  the  idola- 
ter into  his  bosom.'  There  is  a  multitude  in  Israel, 
which,  like  sheep,  follow  blindly  as  they  are  led.  Great 
will  be  the  labor  to  engrave  the  worship  of  the  Lord 
God  in  their  hearts,  when  all  the  powers  of  Israel  shall 
strive  to  do  that  thing  for  them.  How  shall  there  be 
any  success  if  Moses  and  the  appointed  of  the  Lord 
bid  them  worship,  while  the  husband  or  wife  that 
dwelleth  in  their  tent  saith  'Worship  not'?  To  these, 
Rachel's  marriage  with  thee  would  be  justification  and 
incentive  to  incline  toward  idolaters  and  idols.  Then 
there  are  the  wise  and  discerning  who  know  that  Ra- 
chel hath  turned  away  from  the  best  among  her  people. 
How,  then,  shall  she  be  fallen  in  their  sight  if  she  wed 
with  an  idolater  ? 

"She  knoweth  all  these  things  and  she  keepeth  a  firm 
hold  upon  herself,  but  she  hath  not  said  these  things 
to  thee  lest  her  strength  fail  her." 

And  thus  was  the  mystery  explained  to  him. 

"Thou  bowest  down  to  a  beetle,"  she  went  on  with- 
out pausing.  "Thou  worshipest  a  cat';  thou  offerest 
up  sacrifice  to  an  image  and  conservest  abominable 
and  heathen  rites.  Thou  art  an  idolater,  and  as  such 
thou  art  not  for  Rachel.  And  yet,  this  further :  if 
thou  canst  become  a  worshiper  of  the  true  God,  thou 
shalt  take  her.  Never  have  I  seen  an  Egyptian  won 
over  to  the  faith  of  Abraham,  but  there  approacheth  a 
time  of  wonders  and  I  shall  not  marvel." 

To  Egypt  its  faith  was  paramount.  Israel  in  its 
palmiest  days  was  not  more  vigilantly,  jealously  fanat- 
ical than  Egypt.  Every  worshiper  was  a  zealot ; 
every  ecclesiast  an  inquisitor.  Church  and  State  were 
inseparably  united ;  law  was  fused  with  religion ;  sci- 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  281 

ence  and  the  arts  «were  governed  by  hieratic  canons. 
The  individual  ate,  slept  and  labored  in  the  name  of 
the  gods,  and  national  matters  proceeded  as  the  Pan- 
theon directed  by  the  ecclesiastical  mouthpiece. 

Life  was  an  ephemeral  preface  to  the  interminable 
and  actual  existence  of  immortality.  Temporal  things 
were  transient  and  only  of  probationary  value.  The 
tomb  was  the  ultimate  and  hoped-for,  infinite  abiding- 
place. 

To  the  ideal  Osirian  his  faith  was  the  essential  fiber 
in  the  fabric  of  his  existence,  to  withdraw  which  meant 
physical  and  spiritual  destruction.  The  forfeiture  of 
his  faith  for  Rachel,  therefore,  appealed  to  Kenkenes  as 
a  demand  upon  his  blood  for  his  breath's  sake.  His 
plight  was  piteous ;  never  were  alternatives  so  appar- 
ently impossible. 

At  first  there  was  no  coherent  thought  in  the  young 
man's  mind.  His  consciousness  seemed  to  be  full  of 
rebellion,  longing  and  amazement.  Never  in  his  life 
had  he  been  refused  anything  he  greatly  desired, 
when  he  had  justice  on  his  side.  Now  he  was  rejected, 
not  for  a  shortcoming,  but,  according  to  his  religious 
lights,  for  a  virtue  instead.  His  gaze  searched  the  vis- 
ible portion  of  the  other  chamber  and  found  Rachel. 
In  the  half-light  he  saw  that  she  had  cast  herself  down 
against  the  sarcophagus,  face  toward  the  stone,  her 
whole  attitude  one  of  weary  depression. 

Piteous  as  was  the  sight,  there  was  comfort  in  it  for 
him.  Rachel  loved  him  so  much  that  she  was  bowed 
with  the  conflict  between  her  love  and  her  duty.  His 
manhood  reasserted  itself.  Love  in  youth  bears  hope 
with  it  in  the  face  of  the  most  hopeless  hindrances. 
With  the  blood  of  the  Orient  in  his  veins  and  the  fire 


282  THE  YOKE 

of  youth  to  heighten  its  ardor,  he  was  not  to  be  wholly 
and  for  ever  cast  down.  Furthermore,  there  was  Ra- 
chel to  be  comforted. 

He  turned  to  Deborah. 

"Let  it  pass,  then.  Deny  me  not  the  joy  of  loving 
her,  nor  her  the  small  content  of  loving  me.  If  there 
should  be  change,  let  it  be  in  thy  prohibitions,  not  in 
our  love.  Enough.  Art  thou  weary?  Wouldst  thou 
sleep?" 

"Nay,"  she  answered  bluntly. 

"Then  I  would  take  counsel  with  thee.  Thou  know- 
est  the  end  of  Israel  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  know  the  purpose  of  the  Pharaoh,  but  there  is  no 
end  to  Israel." 

"Not  yet,  perchance,"  he  said  calmly,  "or  never.  But 
we  shall  not  put  trust  in  auguries.  The  oppression  of 
the  people  is  already  begun  at  Pa-Ramesu  and  the 
brick-fields.  Ye  shall  not  return  to  those  dire  hard- 
ships. Ye  can  not  return  to  Masaarah.  In  Memphis 
I  offer  my  father's  house,  but  Rachel  refuses  it.  In 
Nehapehu  there  is  safety  among  the  peasantry  on  the 
murket's  lands.  My  father  lost  an  all-powerful  signet 
in  the  tomb  of  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh  at  Tape,  and 
did  not  search  for  it  because  he  believed  that  Rameses 
had  taken  it  away  from  him.  The  king  will  honor  it 
and  grant  whatever  petition  I  make  to  him.  If  ye  are 
unafraid  to  abide  in  this  tomb  for  the  few  remaining 
hours  of  this  night  I  shall  take  you  to  Nehapehu  at 
dawn.  There  ye  can  abide  till  I  go  to  Tape  and  re- 
turn.   What  sayest  thou  ?" 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  quietly  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Is  this  place  safe  ?"  she  asked. 


THE   TREASURE    CAVE  283 

"The  forty-two  demons  of  Amenti  could  not  drive 
an  Egyptian  into  this  tomb." 

"How  comes  it  that  thou  art  not  afraid?" 

"I  have  no  belief  in  spirits." 

"Nor  have  we.  Why  need  we  go  hence?  We  shall 
abide  here  till  thou  shalt  return." 

"In  this  place!"  Kenkenes  exclaimed,  recoiling. 
"Nay !  I  shall  be  gone  sixteen  days  at  least." 

"We  shall  not  fear  to  live  in  a  tomb,  we  who  have 
defied  untombed  death  daily.   We  shall  remain  here." 

"This  hole — this  cave  of  death !" 

"We  have  shelter,  and  by  thine  own  words  none 
will  molest  us  here.  We  are  not  spoiled  with  soft 
living,  nor  would  we  take  peril  to  any.  Without  are 
fowls,  herbs,  roots,  water — within,  security,  meat  and 
wine.  We  shall  not  fear  the  dead  whom,  living,  Joseph 
rebuked.  We  shall  be  content  and  well  housed." 

"But  thou  art  wounded,"  he  essayed. 

She  scouted  his  words  with  heroic  scorn.  "Nay,  let 
us  have  no  more.  If  thou,  canst  accomplish  this  thing 
for  Rachel,  do  it  with  a  light  heart,  for  we  shall  be 
safe.  If  thou  art  successful,  Israel  will  rise  up  and 
call  thee  blessed ;  if  thou  failest,  the  sons  of  Abraham 
will  still  remember  thee  with  respect." 

No  humility,  no  cringing  gratitude  in  this.  Queen 
Hatasu,  talking  with  her  favorite  general,  could  not 
have  commended  him  in  a  more  queenly  way. 

To  Kenkenes  it  seemed  that  their  positions  had  been 
reversed.  He  craved  to  serve  them  and  they  suffered 
him. 

"I  shall  go  then  to-night,"  he  said  simply. 

"Nay,  bide  with  us  to-night,  for  thou  art  weary. 
There  is  no  need  for  such  haste." 


284  THE  YOKE 

He  opened  his  lips  to  protest,  his  objections  mani- 
festing1 themselves  in  his  manner.  But  she  waved  them 
aside. 

"Thou  hast  the  marks  of  hard  usage  upon  thee,"  she 
said ;  "thou  hast  slaved  for  us  since  midday,  and  now 
the  night  is  far  spent.  Thine  eyes  are  heavy  for  sleep, 
thy  face  is  weary.  And  before  thee  is  a  task  which  will 
require  thy  keenest  wit,  thy  steadiest  hand.  Thou 
owest  it  to  Rachel  and  to  thyself  to  go  forth  with  the 
eye  of  a  hawk  and  the  strength  of  a  young  lion." 

Because  of  Rachel's  name  in  her  argument  he  yield- 
ed and  turned  immediately  to  the  subject  of  their  lone- 
some residence  in  the  haunted  tomb.  "If  aught  befall 
me,"  he  said,  "for  I  am  in  the  unknowable  hands  of 
the  Hathors,  disguise  thyself  and  Rachel.  If  thou  art 
skilled  in  altering  thou  canst  find  pigment  among  the 
roots  of  the  Nile.  Dye  her  hair  and  stain  her  face, 
take  the  boat  and  go  to  my  father's  house  in  Memphis. 
He  is  Mentu,  the  murket  to  the  Pharaoh — a  patriot 
and  a  friend  to  the  kings.  He  knows  not  the  Hebrew '^ 
but  he  is  generous,  hospitable  and  kind  to  the  op- 
pressed of  whatever  blood.  Tell  him  Rachel's  trouble 
and  of  me.  I  am  his  only  child,  and  my  name  on  thy 
lips  will  win  thee  the  best  of  his  board,  the  shelter  of 
his  roof,  the  protection  of  his  right  arm.  Wait  for  me, 
however,  in  this  place  till  a  month  hath  elapsed. 

"Keep  the  amphorae  filled  with  water,  fresh  every 
day,  and  preserve  a  stock  of  food  within  the  tomb 
always  to  stand  you  in  good  stead  if  Rachel's  enemy 
discover  her  hiding-place  and  besiege  it." 

His  eyes  ignited  and  his  face  grew  white. 

"Starve  within  this  cave,"  he  went  on  intensely,  ap- 
proaching her,  "but  deliver  her  not  into  his  hands,  I 


THE   TREASURE   CAVE  285 

charge  thee,  for  the  welfare  of  thy  immortal  soul.  If 
thou  art  beset  and  there  is  no  escape,  before  she  shall 
live  for  the  despoiler — take  her  life !" 

Deborah  scanned  him  narrowly,  and  wHen  he  made 
an  end  she  opened  her  lips  as  though  to  speak.  But 
something  deterred  her,  and  she  moved  away  from  him. 

"Come,  spread  the  matting,  Rachel,"  she  said.  "The 
master  will  stay  with  us  to-night." 

Obediently  the  girl  came,  still  white  of  face,  but 
composed.  She  made  a  pallet  of  one  roll  of  the  mat- 
ting, generously  sprinkled  the  floor  about  it  with  oil  to 
keep  away  the  insects,  put  the  lamp  behind  the  amphora 
rack,  hung  her  scarf  over  the  frame  that  the  light  might 
not  shine  in  her  guest's  eyes,  and  set  the  door  a  little 
aside  to  let  the  cool  night  air  enter  from  the  river. 
Having  completed  her  service,  she  bade  him  a  soft 
good-night  and  disappeared  into  the  inner  crypt,  where 
Deborah  had  gone  before  her. 

Kenkenes  immediately  flung  himself  upon  the  pallet 
because  Rachel's  hands  had  made  it,  and  in  a  moment 
became  acutely  conscious  of  all  the  ache  of  body  and 
the  pain  of  soul  the  day  had  brought  him.  The  first 
deprived  him  of  comfort,  the  second  of  his  peace,  and 
there  was  the  smell  of  dawn  on  the  breeze  before  he 
fell  asleep. 

After  sunset  the  next  day  Deborah  roused  him.  He 
awoke  restored  in  strength  and  hungry.  The  old 
Israelite  had  prepared  some  of  the  gazelle-meat  for 
him,  and  this,  with  a  draft  of  wine  from  an  amphora, 
refreshed  him  at  once.  Provisions  had  been  put 
in  his  wallet,  and  a  double  handful  of  golden  rings, 
with  several  jewels,  much  treasure  in  small  bulk,  had 
been  wrapped  in  a  strip  of  linen  and  was  ready  for  him. 


286  THE   YOKE 

By  the  time  all  preparations  were  complete  the  night 
had  come. 

He  bade  Deborah  farewell  and  took  Rachel's  hand. 
It  was  cold  and  trembled  pitifully.  Without  a  word 
he  pressed  it  and  gave  it  back.  He  had  reached  the 
entrance,  when  it  seemed  that  a  suppressed  sound 
smote  on  his  ears,  and  he  stopped.  Deborah,  her  face 
grown  stern  and  hard,  had  moved  a  step  or  two  for- 
ward and  stood  regarding  Rachel  sharply.  Neither 
saw  her. 

"Did  you  speak,  Rachel  ?"  Kenkenes  asked.  He  fan- 
cied that  her  arms  had  fallen  quickly  as  he  turned. 

"Nay,  except  to  bid  thee  take  care  of  thyself,  Ken- 
kenes," she  faltered,  "more  for  thine  own  sake  than  for 
mine." 

He  returned  and,  on  his  knee,  pressed  her  hand  to 
his  lips. 

"God's  face  light  thee  and  His  peace  attend  thee," 
she  continued.  The  blessing  was  full  of  wondrous  ten- 
derness and  music.  He  knew  how  her  face  looked 
above  him;  how  the  free  hand  all  but  rested  on  his 
head,  and  for  a  moment  his  fortitude  seemed  about  to 
desert  him.    But  she  whispered : 

"Farewell." 

And  he  arose  and  went  forth. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  THEBES 

The  moon  was  ampler  and  its  light  stronger.  The 
Nile  was  a  vast  and  faintly  silvered  expanse,  rough- 
ened with  countless  ripples  blown  opposite  the  direc- 
tion of  the  current.  The  north  wind  had  risen  and 
swept  through  the  crevice  between  the  hills  with  more 
than  usual  strength,  adding  its  reedy  music  to  the 
sound  of  the  swiftly  flowing  waters. 

After  launching  his  bari,  Kenkenes  gazed  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  a  prayer  to  Ptah  for  aid,  struck  out  for 
the  south,  rowing  with  powerful  strokes. 

At  the  western  shore  lighted  barges  swayed  at  their 
moorings  or  journeyed  slowly,  but  the  Nile  was  wide, 
and  the  craft,  blinded  by  their  own  brilliance,  had  no 
thought  of  what  might  be  hugging  the  Arabian  shore. 
Yet  Kenkenes,  with  the  inordinate  apprehension  of  the 
fugitive,  lurked  in  the  shadows,  dashed  across  open 
spaces  and  imagined  in  every  drifting,  drowsy  fisher's 
raft  a  pursuing  party.  He  prayed  for  the  well-remem- 
bered end  of  the  white  dike,  where  the  Nile  curved 
about  the  southernmost  limits  of  the  capital.  The  day 
had  not  yet  broken  when  he  passed  the  last  flambeau 
burning  at  the  juncture  of  the  dike  with  the  city  wall. 
He  rowed  on  steadily  for  Memphis,  and  immediate 
danger  was  at  last  behind  him. 

287 


288  THE   YOKE 

The  towers  of  the  city  had  sunk  below  the  northern 
horizon  when,  opposite  a  poor  little  shrine  for  cow- 
herds on  the  shore,  a  brazen  gong  sounded  musically 
for  the  sunrise  prayers.  The  Libyan  hilltops  were, 
at  that  instant,  illuminated  by  the  sun,  and  Kenkenes, 
in  obedience  to  lifelong  training,  rested  his  oars  and 
bent  his  head.  When  he  pulled  on  again  he  did  not 
realize  that  he  had  been,  with  the  stubbornness  of 
habit,  maintaining  the  breach  between  him  and  Rachel. 
There  was  no  thought  in  his  mind  to  give  over  his 
faith. 

At  noon,  weary  with  heat,  hunger  and  heavy  labor, 
he  drew  up  at  Hak-heb,  on  the  western  side  of  the  Nile, 
fifty  miles  above  Memphis.  The  town  was  the  com- 
mercial center  for  the  pastoral  districts  of  the  poste- 
rior Arsinoeite  nome — Nehapehu.  Here  were  brought 
for  shipment  the  wine,  wheat  and  cattle  of  the  fertile 
pocket  in  the  Libyan  desert.  Being  at  a  season  of 
commercial  inactivity,  when  the  farmers  were  await- 
ing the  harvest,  the  sunburnt  wharves  were  almost  de- 
serted. 

Few  saw  Kenkenes  arrive.  Most  of  the  inhabitants 
were  taking  the  midday  rest,  and  every  moored  boat 
was  manned  by  a  sleeping  crew.  He  made  a  landing 
and  went  up  through  the  sand  and  dust  of  the  hot 
street  to  the  only  inn.  Here  he  ate  and  slept  till  night 
had  come  again.  Refreshed  and  invigorated,  he  con- 
tinued his  journey.  At  noon  the  next  day  he  stopped 
to  sleep  at  another  town  and  to  buy  a  lamp,  materials 
for  making  fire,  ropes  and  a  plummet  of  bronze  suf- 
ficiently heavy  to  anchor  his  boat.  He  was  entering 
a  long  stretch  of  distance  wherein  there  was  no  in- 
habited town,  and  he  was  making  ready  to  sleep  in  the 


ON   THE   WAY   TO   THEBES  289 

bari.  Then  he  began  to  travel  by  day,  for  he  was  too 
far  from  Memphis  to  fear  pursuit,  and  rest  in  an  open 
boat  under  a  blazing  sun  would  be  impossible. 

The  third  evening  he  paused  opposite  a  ruined  city 
on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Nile.  Hunters  not  infre- 
quently went  inland  at  this  point  for  large  game,  and 
although  the  place  was  in  a  state  of  partial  demolish- 
ment,  Kenkenes  hoped  that  there  might  be  an  inn.  He 
tied  his  boat  to  a  stake  and  entered  Khu-aten,*  the 
destroyed  capital  of  Amenophis  IV,  self-styled  Khu- 
n-Aten. 

Here  under  a  noble  king,  who  loved  beauty  and  had 
it  not,  the  barbarous  rites  of  the  Egyptian  religion 
were  overthrown  and  sensuous  and  esthetic  ceremonies 
were  established  and  made  obligatory  all  over  the  king- 
dom. In  his  blind  groping  after  the  One  God,  the  king 
had  directed  worship  to  the  most  fitting  symbol  of 
Him — the  sun. 

He  appeased  the  luminous  divinity  by  offerings  of 
flowers,  regaled  it  with  simmerings  from  censers,  be- 
sought it  with  the  tremulous  harp  and  had  it  pictured 
with  grace  and  vested  with  charm.  And  since  the  power 
of  the  national  faith  was  all-permeating,  its  reconstruc- 
tion was  far-reaching  in  effect.  Egypt  was  swept  into 
a  tremendous  and  beautiful  heresy  by  a  homely  king, 
whose  word  was  law. 

But  at  his  death  the  reaction  was  vast  and  vindic- 
tive. The  orthodox  faith  reasserted  itself  with  a  vio- 
lence that  carried  every  monument  to  the  apostasy 
and  the  very  name  of  the  apostate  into  dust.  Now  the 
remaining  houses  of  Khu-aten  were  the  homes  of  the 

*Khu-aten — Tel-el- Amarna. 


290  THE   YOKE 

fishers — its  ruins  the  habitation  of  criminals  and  refu- 
gees. 

The  hand  of  the  insulted  zealot,  of  the  envious  suc- 
cessor, of  the  invader  and  conqueror,  had  done  what 
the  reluctant  hand  of  nature  might  not  have  ac- 
complished in  a  millennium.  The  ruins  showed  them- 
selves, stretching  afar  toward  and  across  the  eastern 
sky,  in  ragged  and  indefinable  lines.  The  oblique  rays 
of  the  newly  risen  moon  slanted  a  light  that  was  weird 
and  ghostly  because  it  fell  across  a  ruin.  Kenkenes 
climbed  over  a  chaos  of  prostrate  columns,  fallen  arch- 
itraves and  broken  colossi,  and  the  sounds  of  his  ad- 
vance stirred  the  rat,  the  huge  spider,  the  snake  and 
the  hiding  beast  from  the  dark  debris.  Here  and  there 
were  solitary  walls  standing  out  of  heaps  of  wreck- 
age, which  had  been  palaces,  and  frequent  arid  open 
spaces  marked  the  site  of  groves.  In  complex  rami- 
fications throughout  the  city  sandy  troughs  were  still 
distinguishable,  where  canals  had  been,  and  in  places 
of  peculiarly  complete  destruction  the  strips  of  uneven 
pavement  showed    the  location  of  temples. 

There  was  not  a  house  at  which  Kenkenes  dared  to 
ask  hospitality.  Those  that  lived  so  precariously 
would  have  little  conscience  about  stripping  him  of  his 
possessions. 

He  retraced  his  steps  to  the  wharves  and  drew  away, 
prepared  to  spend  the  night  in  his  boat. 

After  leaving  Khu-aten,  the  Nile  wound  through 
wild  country,  the  hills  approaching  its  course  so 
closely  as  to  suggest  the  confines  of  a  gorge.  The  nar- 
row strip  of  level  land  on  the  eastern  side  lay  under 
a  receding  shadow  cast  by  the  hills,  but  the  river  and 
the  western  shore  were  in  the  broad  brilliance  of  the 


ON   THE   WAY   TO    THEBES  291 

moon.  The  night  promised  to  be  one  of  exceeding 
brightness  and  Kenkenes  shared  the  resulting  wake- 
fulness of  the  wild  life  on  land. 

The  half  of  his  up-journey  was  done  and  the  con- 
flict of  hope  and  doubt  marshaled  feasible  argument 
for  and  against  the  success  of  his  mission.  In  some 
manner  the  destruction  of  Khu-aten  offered,  in  its 
example  of  Egypt's  fury  against  progress,  a  parallel 
to  his  own  straits. 

In  his  boyhood  he  had  heard  the  Pharaoh  Khu-n- 
Aten  anathematized  by  the  shaven  priests,  and  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart  he  had  been  startled  -to  find  no  sym- 
pathy for  their  rage  against  the  artist-king. 

Ritual-bound  Egypt  had  resented  liberty  of  worship 
— a  liberalism  that  lacked  naught  in  zeal  or  piety,  but 
added  grace  to  the  Osirian  faith.  In  his  beauty-wor- 
ship, Kenkenes  was  not  narrow.  He  would  not  con- 
fine it  to  glyptic  art,  nor  indeed  to  art  alone — all  the 
uses  of  life  might  be  bettered  by  it.  His  appreciation 
of  Khu-n-Aten's  ambition  had  been  passive  before, 
but  when  his  own  spirit  experienced  the  same  fire  and 
the  same  reproach,  his  sympathy  became  hearty  parti- 
zanship. 

His  mind  wandered  back  again  to  the  ruin.  How 
fiercely  Egypt  had  resented  the  schism  of  a  Pharaoh, 
a  demi-god,  the  Vicar  of  Osiris !  The  words  of 
Rachel  came  back  to  him  like  an  inspiration : 

"Thou  hast  nation-wide,  nation-old,  nation-defended 
prejudice  to  overcome,  and  thou  art  but  one,  Ken- 
kenes." 

But  one,  indeed,  and  only  a  nobleman.  Could  he 
hope  to  change  Egypt  when  a  king  might  not?  Be- 
hold, how  he  was  suffering  for  a  single  and  simple 


292  THE   YOKE 

breach  of  the  law.  At  the  thought  he  paused  and 
asked  himself: 

"Am  I  suffering  for  the  sacrilege  ?" 

The  admission  would  entail  a  terrifying  complexity. 

If  he  were  suffering  punishment  for  the  statue,  what 
punishment  had  been  his  for  the  sacrilegious  execu- 
tion of  the  Judgment  of  the  Dead  in  the  tomb  of 
Rameses  II?  What,  other  than  the  reclamation  of 
the  signet  by  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh,  even  as 
Mentu  had  said?  If  the  hypothesis  held,  he  had  com- 
mitted sacrilege,  he  had  offended  the  gods,  and  might 
not  the  accumulated  penalty  be — O  unspeakable — the 
loss  of  Rachel  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  signet  were  still  in  the 
tomb,  Rameses  had  not  reclaimed  it — Rameses  had  not 
been  offended.  The  ritual  condemned  his  act,  but  if 
Rameses  in  the  realm  of  inexorable  justice  and  super- 
nal wisdom  did  not,  how  should  he  reconcile  the 
threats  of  the  ritual  and  the  evident  passiveness  of  the 
royal  soul?  If  he  found  the  signet  and  achieved  his 
ends,  aside  from  its  civil  power  over  him,  what  weight 
would  the  canonical  thunderings  have  to  his  inner 
heart  ? 

Once  again  he  paused.  The  deductions  of  his  free 
reasoning  led  him  upon  perilous  ground.  They  made 
innuendoes  concerning  the  stability  of  the  other  arti- 
cles of  hieratical  law.  He  was  startled  and  afraid  of 
his  own  arguments. 

"Nay,  by  the  gods,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "it  is 
not  safe  to  reason  with  religion." 

But  every  stroke  of  his  oar  was  active  persistence 
in  his  heresy. 

He  believed  he  should  find  the  signet. 


ON    THE   WAY   TO   THEBES  293 

Thereafter  he  could  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  any  renegade 
ideas  such  an  event  might  suggest. 

It  was  an  unlucky  chance  that  befell  the  theological 
institutions  of  Egypt  as  far  as  this  devotee  was  con- 
cerned, that  Kenkenes  had  landed  at  the  capital  of  the 
hated  Pharaoh. 

But  he  shook  himself  and  tried  to  fix  his  attention 
on  the  night.  The  stars  were  few — the  multitude  ob- 
literated by  the  moon,  the  luminaries  abashed  thereby. 
The  light  fell  through  a  high  haze  of  dust  and  was 
therefore  wondrously  refracted  and  diffused.  The 
hills  made  high  lifted  horizons,  undulating  toward  the 
east,  serrated  toward  the  west.  In  the  sag  between 
there  was  no  human  companionship  abroad. 

Throughout  great  lengths  of  shore-line  the  tuneless 
stridulation  of  frogs,  the  guttural  cries  of  water-birds 
and  the  general  movement  in  the  sedge  indicated  a 
serene  content  among  small  life.  But  sometimes  he 
would  find  silence  on  one  bank  for  a  goodly  stretch 
where  there  was  neither  marsh-chorus  nor  cadences 
of  insects.  The  hush  would  be  profound  and  an  af- 
frighted air  of  suspense  was  apparent.  And  there  at  the 
river-brink  the  author  of  this  breathless  dismay,  some 
lithe  flesh-eater,  would  stride,  shadow-like,  through 
the  high  reeds  to  drink.  Now  and  then  the  woman- 
like scream  of  the  wildcat,  or  the  harsh  staccato  laugh 
of  the  hyena  would  startle  the  marshes  into  silence. 
Sometimes  retiring  shapes  would  halt  and  gaze  with 
emberous  eyes  at  the  boat  moving  in  midstream. 

Kenkenes  admitted  with  a  grim  smile  that  the  great 
powers  of  the  world  and  the  wild  were  against  him. 
But  Rachel's  face  came  to  him  as  comfort — the  mem- 
ory of  it  when  it  was  tender  and  yielding — and  with 


294  THE   YOKE 

a  lover's  buoyancy  he  forgot  his  sorrows  in  remember- 
ing that  she  loved  him.  He  dropped  the  anchor  and, 
lying  down  in  the  bottom  of  his  boat,  dreamed  hap- 
pily into  the  dawn. 

During  the  day  he  landed  for  supplies  at  a  misera- 
ble town  of  pottery-makers,  leaving  his  boat  at  the 
crazy  wharves. 

When  he  returned  the  bari  was  gone.  A  negro,  the 
only  one  near  the  river  who  was  awake,  told  him  that 
a  dhow,  laden  with  clay,  in  making  a  landing  had 
struck  the  bari,  staved  in  its  side,  upset  it  and  sent  it 
adrift. 

The  mischance  did  not  trouble  Kenkenes. 

After  some  effort  he  aroused  a  crew  of  oarsmen, 
procured  a  boat,  and  continued  at  once  to  Thebes. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  FAN-BEARER'S  QUEST 

At  sunset  on  the  day  after  the  festivities  at  the 
Lady  Senci's,  Hotep  deserted  his  palace  duties  and 
came  to  the  house  of  Mentu.  He  had  in  mind  to  try 
again  to  persuade  his  friend  from  his  folly,  for  the 
scribe  was  certain  that  Kenkenes  was  once  more  re- 
turning- to  his  sacrilege  and  the  Israelite. 

The  old  housekeeper  informed  him  that  the  young 
master  was  not  at  home,  though  he  was  expected  even 
now. 

Hotep  waited  in  the  house  of  his  aunt,  neighbor 
to  the  murket,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  first  watch 
asked  again  for  Kenkenes. 

Nay,  the  young  master  had  not  returned.  But 
would  not  the  noble  Hotep  enter  and  await  him  ? 

The  scribe,  however,  returned  to  the  palace,  and  put 
off  his  visit  until  the  next  day. 

The  following  noon  a  page  brought  him  a  message 
from  his  aunt,  the  Lady  Senci.  It  was  short  and  dis- 
tressed. 

"Kenkenes  has  not  returned,  Hotep,  and  since  he  is 
known  to  have  gone  upon  the  Nile,  we  fear  that  dis- 
aster has  overtaken  him.  Come  and  help  the  unhappy 
murket.  His  household  is  so  dismayed  that  it  is  use- 
less.   Come,  and  come  quickly." 

295 


296  THE   YOKE 

The  probability  of  the  young  artist's  death  in  the 
Nile  immediately  took  second  place  in  the  scribe's 
mind.  Kenkenes  had  displayed  to  Hotep  the  effect 
of  Rameses'  savage  boast  to  exterminate  the  Hebrews. 
It  was  that  incident  which  had  convinced  the  scribe 
that  the  Arabian  hills  would  claim  the  artist  on  the 
morrow.  He  had  not  stopped  to  surmise  the  ex- 
tremes to  which  Kenkenes  would  go,  but  his  mysteri- 
ous disappearance  seemed  to  suggest  that  the  lover 
had  gone  to  the  Israelitish  camp  to  remain. 

He  made  ready  and  repaired  to  the  house  of  the 
murket.  Mentu  met  him  in  the  chamber  of  guests. 
By  the  dress  of  the  great  artist  it  would  seem  that  he 
had  returned  at  that  moment  from  the  streets. 

Hotep  sat  down  beside  him,  and  with  tact  and  well- 
chosen  words  told  his  story  and  summarized  his  narra- 
tion with  a  mild  statement  of  his  suspicions. 

There  was  no  outbreak  on  the  part  of  Mentu.  But 
his  broad  chest  heaved  once,  as  though  it  had  thrown 
off  a  great  weight. 

"But  Kenkenes  has  been  a  dutiful  son,"  he  said  after 
a  silence.  "I  can  not  think  he  would  use  me  so  cruelly 
— no  word  of  his  intent  or  his  whereabouts." 

The  objection  was  plausible. 

"Then,  let  us  go  to  Masaarah  and  discover  of  a 
surety,"  the  scribe  suggested. 

When  Atsu  emerged  from  the  mouth  of  the  little 
valley  into  the  quarries  some  time  after  the  midday 
meal,  he  was  confronted  by  the  murket  and  the  royal 
scribe.    Neither  of  the  men  was  unknown  to  him. 

Hotep  halted  him. 

"Was  there  a  guest  with  the  fair-haired  Israelite 
maiden  last  night  ?"  the  scribe  asked. 


THE   FAN-BEARER'S    GUEST  297 

Atsu's  face,  pinched  and  darker  than  usual,  blazed 
wrathfully. 

"Have  ye  also  joined  yourselves  with  Har-hat  to 
run  that  hard-pressed  child  to  earth?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Do  ye  call  yourselves  men  ?" 

"The  gods  forbid !"  Hotep  protested.  "We  do  not 
concern  ourselves  with  the  maiden.  It  is  the  man 
who  may  be  with  her  that  we  seek." 

The  taskmaster  made  an  angry  gesture,  and  Hotep 
interrupted  again. 

"I  do  not  question  her  decorum,  and  the  man  of 
whom  I  speak  is  of  spotless  character.  He  is  lost  and 
we  seek  him." 

"I  can  not  help  you ;  my  wits  are  taxed  in  another 
search." 

Hotep's  face  showed  light  at  the  taskmaster's  words. 

"Is  she  also  gone?"  he  asked  mildly.  "Then  let 
me  give  you  my  word,  that  the  discovery  of  one  will 
also  find  the  other." 

Atsu  gazed  with  growing  hope  at  the  scribe. 

"How  is  he  favored  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"He  is  tall,  half  a  palm  taller  than  his  fellows ; 
comely  of  countenance ;  young ;  in  manner,  amiable 
and  courteous — ." 

Atsu  interrupted  him  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "I 
saw  him  once — good  three  months  agone,  but  not 
since." 

The  reply  baffled  Hotep  for  a  moment.  He  realized 
that  to  find  Kenkenes  he  must  begin  a  search  for 
Rachel. 

"Good  Atsu,  he  whom  we  seek  is  a  friend  to  the 
maiden.    He  is  much  beloved  by  me — by  us.    Whom- 


298  THE   YOKE 

soever  he  befriendeth  we  shall  befriend.  Wilt  thou 
tell  us  when  and  from  whom  the  maiden  fled  ?" 

Atsu  had  become  willing  by  this  time.  This  amia- 
ble young  noble  might  be  able  to  lift  the  suspense  that 
burdened  his  unhappy  heart. 

"Har-hat — Set  make  a  cinder  of  his  heart! — asked 
her  at  the  hands  of  the  Pharaoh  for  his  harem — " 

Mentu  interrupted  him  with  a  growling  imprecation 
and  Hotep's  fair  face  darkened. 

"Yesterday  morning  he  sent  three  men  to  me,"  the 
taskmaster  continued,  "with  the  document  of  gift  from 
the  Son  of  Ptah,  but  she  saw  them  in  time  and  fled 
into  the  desert.  At  that  hour  there  were  only  women 
in  the  camp,  and  the  three  men  made  short  work  of 
me  when  I  would  have  held  them  till  she  escaped.  In 
three  hours,  two  of  them  returned — one,  sick  from 
hard  usage,  and  the  third,  they  said,  had  been  pitched 
over  the  cliff-front  into  the  valley  of  the  Nile.  They 
had  not  captured  her  and  they  were  too  much  enraged 
to  explain  why  they  had  not.  During  their  absence  I 
emptied  the  quarries  of  Israelites  and  posted  them 
along  the  Nile  to  halt  the  Egyptians,  if  they  came  to 
the  river  with  Rachel.  But  we  let  them  return  to 
Memphis  empty-handed,  and  thereafter  searched  the 
hills  till  sunset.  The  maiden's  foster-mother,  it  seems, 
fled  with  her,  but  neither  of  them,  nor  any  trace  of 
them,  was  to  be  found." 

"Does  it  not  appear  to  thee,"  Hotep  asked,  after  a 
little  silence,  "that  the  same  hand  which  so  forcibly 
persuaded  the  Egyptians  to  abandon  the  pursuit  may 
have  led  the  maiden  to  a  place  of  safety  ?  My  surmises 
have  been  right  in  general,  O  noble  Mentu,  but  not  in 
detail,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  murket.     "There 


THE    FAN-BEARER'S    GUEST  299 

is,  however,  the  element  of  danger  now  to  take  the 
place  of  the  gracelessness  we  would  have  laid  to  him. 
Thou  knowest  Har-hat,  my  Lord." 

He  thanked  the  dark-faced  taskmaster.  "Have  no 
concern  for  the  maiden.    She  is  safe,  I  doubt  not." 

He  took  Mentu's  arm  and  passing  up  through  the 
Israelitish  camp,  climbed  the  slope  behind  it. 

"It  is  my  duty  and  thine  to  hide  this  lovely  folly  up 
here,  ere  these  searching  minions  of  Har-hat  or  frantic 
Israelites  come  upon  it." 

The  scribe's  sense  of  direction  and  location  was 
keen.  It  was  one  of  the  goodly  endowments  of  the 
savage  and  the  beast  which  the  gods  had  added  to 
the  powers  of  this  man  of  splendid  intellect.  He 
doubled  back  through  the  great  rocks,  his  steps  a  little 
rapid  and  never  hesitating,  as  though  his  destination 
were  in  full  view.  Mentu  followed  him,  silent  and 
moodily  thoughtful.    At  last  Hotep  stopped. 

Before  them  was  a  narrow  aisle  leading  down  from 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  was  hemmed  in  on  each 
side  by  tumbled  masses  of  stone.  The  aisle  termi- 
nated at  its  lower  end  in  a  long  white  drift  of  sand 
against  a  great  cube.  Instinct  and  reason  told  Hotep 
that  here  had  been  the  hiding-place  of  Athor,  but  there 
was  no  sign  that  human  foot  had  ever  entered  the 
spot.    After  a  space  of  puzzlement,  Hotep  smiled. 

"He  hath  made  way  with  ,the  sacrilege  himself,"  he 
said  with  relief  in  his  voice ;  "I  had  not  credited  him 
with  so  much  foresight.  Nay,  now,  if  the  runaway 
will  but  come  home,  we  will  forgive  him." 

Mentu  said  nothing.  Indeed,  since  Hotep  had  told 
him  of  the  recent  doings  of  Kenkenes,  the  murket  had 
had  little  to  say.    He  had  felt  in  his  lifetime  most  of 


300  THE   YOKE 

the  sorrows  that  can  overtake  a  man  of  his  position 
and  attainments — but  he  had  never  known  the  chagrin 
of  a  wayward  child.  The  fear  that  he  was  to  know 
that  humiliation,  now,  made  his  heart  heavy  beyond 
words. 

As  they  turned  away  the  sound  of  voices  smote  upon 
their  ears. 

"Near  this  spot,  it  must  be,  my  Lord,"  one  said. 

"Find  the  sacrilege,  lout.  We  seek  not  the  neigh- 
borhood of  it." 

Hotep  caught  the  murket's  arm  and  drew  him  out  of 
the  aisle  into  hiding  behind  another  great  stone. 

"This  is  the  place ;  this  is  the  place,"  the  first  voice 
declared,  and  his  statement  was  seconded  by  another 
and  as  positive  a  voice. 

There  was  the  sound  of  the  new-comers  emerging 
into  the  aisle,  and  immediately  the  first  speaker  ex- 
claimed in  a  tone  full  of  astonishment  and  disappoint- 
ment: 

"O,  aye;  I  see!"  the  master  assented  with  an  irri- 
tating laugh. 

"Har-hat !"  Hotep  whispered. 

Another  of  the  party  broke  in  impatiently :  "Make 
an  end  to  this  chase.  Saw  you  any  sacrilege,  or  was 
it  a  phantom  of  your  stupid  dreams  ?" 

"Asar-Mut,"  Mentu  said  under  his  breath. 

The  first  voice  and  its  second  protested  in  chorus. 

"As  the  gods  hear  me,  I  saw  it !"  the  first  went  on. 
"It  was  a  statue  most  sacrilegiously  wrought  and  the 
man  stood  before  it.  It  was  cunningly  hidden  between 
two  walls,  and  there  is  no  spot  on  the  desert  that  looks 
so  much  like  the  place  as  this.  And  yet,  no  wall — no 
statue — no  sign  of — " 


THE    FAN-BEARER'S    GUEST  301 

"How  did  you  find  it  yesterday?"  the  fan-bearer 
asked. 

"We  followed  the  hag,  and  she,  the  girl.  The  pair 
of  them  were  in  sight  of  each  other,  as  they  ran." 

"How  did  they  find  it?" 

"Magic!    Magic!" 

"There  were  three  of  you  and  one  man  overthrew 
you  all?"  the  high  priest  commented  suspiciously. 

"Holy  Father!"  the  servant  protested  wildly,  "he 
was  a  giant — a  monster  for  bigness.  Besides,  there 
were  but  two  of  us,  after  he  had  all  but  throttled  me." 

Har-hat  laughed  again.  "Aye,  and  after  he  pitched 
Nak  over  the  cliff,  there  was  but  one.  But  tell  me  this : 
was  he  noble  or  a  churl  ?" 

"He  wore  the  circlet." 

Mentu's  long  fingers  bent  as  if  he  longed  for  a  throat 
between  them. 

"The  craven  invented  his  giant  to  salve  his  valor," 
the  priest  said. 

"It  may  be,"  the  fan-bearer  replied  musingly,  "but 
thy  nephew,  holy  Father,  is  conspicuously  tall  and 
well-muscled.  Likewise,  he  is  a  sculptor.  Further- 
more, the  two  slaves  came  home  badly  abused.  Unas 
has  some  proof  for  his  tale — " 

"Kenkenes  is  the  soul  of  fidelity,"  the  high  priest 
retorted  warmly.  "He  has  had  unnumbered  oppor- 
tunities to  betray  the  gods  and  he  has  ever  been  stead- 
fast." 

"Nay,  I  did  not  impugn  him.  The  similarity  merely 
appealed  to  me.  Let  us  get  down  into  the  valley  and 
question  that  villain  Atsu.  I  would  know  what  be- 
came of  the  girl." 

"Mine  interests  are  solelv  with  the  ecclesiastical  fea- 


302  THE   YOKE 

tures  of  the  offense,  my  Lord,"  Asar-Mut  replied.  "I 
would  get  back  to  Memphis." 

"Bear  us  company  a  little  longer,  holy  Father.  The 
taskmaster  may  tell  us  somewhat  of  this  blaspheming 
sculptor-giant." 

When  the  last  sound  of  the  departing  men  died 
away,  Mentu  turned  across  the  hill  toward  the  Nile- 
front  of  the  cliff. 

"Nay,  I  will  go  back  to  Memphis  first,"  he  said 
grimly.  "Mayhap  Kenkenes  hath  returned.  If  Asar- 
Mut  should  question  him,  he  would  not  evade  nor 
equivocate,  so  I  shall  send  him  away  that  he  may  not 
meet  his  uncle.  I  would  not  have  him  lie,  but  he  shall 
not  accomplish  his  own  undoing." 

But  days  of  seeking  followed,  growing  frantic  as 
time  went  on,  and  there  was  no  trace  of  the  lost  artist. 
Even  his  pet  ape  did  not  return.  Asar-Mut  ques- 
tioned Mentu  closely  concerning  the  fidelity  of  Ken- 
kenes to  the  faith  and  the  ritual. 

"I  ask  after  his  soul,"  he  explained.  But  he  gained 
no  evidence  from  Mentu. 

On  the  fourteenth  day  after  the  disappearance  of  the 
young  sculptor,  Sepet,  the  boatman  that  had  hired  his 
bari  to  Kenkenes,  found  the  boat  among  the  wharf 
piling.  It  was  overturned,  its  bottom  ripped  out,  one 
side  crushed  as  if  a  river-horse  had  played  with  it. 
In  the  small  compartment  at  the  tiller  were  provisions 
for  a  light  lunch ;  a  wallet,  empty ;  a  rope  and  a  plum- 
met of  bronze  used  to  moor  a  boat  in  midstream  while 
the  sportsman  fished ;  the  light  woolen  mantle  worn 
as  often  for  protection  against  the  sun  as  against  the 
cold,  and  other  things  to  prove  that  Kenkenes  had  met 
with  disaster. 


THE    FAN-BEARER'S    GUEST  303 

The  fate  of  the  young  man  seemed  to  be  explained. 
The  great  house  of  Mentu  was  darkened ;  the  servants 
went  unkempt  and  the  artist  wore  a  blue  scarf  knotted 
about  his  hips.  The  high  priest  dismissed  the  subject 
of  the  sacrilege  from  his  mind,  now  that  his  nephew 
was  dead.  The  people  of  Memphis  who  knew  Ken- 
kenes  mourned  with  Mentu ;  the  festivities  were  dull 
without  him,  and  there  were  some,  like  Io  and  the 
Lady  Senci,  who  went  into  retirement  and  were  not  to 
be  comforted. 

But  Har-hat  presented  jeweled  housings  to  Apis 
for  the  prospering  of  his  search  after  Rachel,  and  set 
about  assisting  the  god  with  all  his  might.  He  sent 
couriers,  armed  with  a  description  and  warrant  for 
the  arrest  of  Kenkenes  and  the  Israelite,  into  all  the 
large  cities  of  Egypt.  He  ransacked  Pa-Ramesu  and 
the  brick-fields,  Silsilis,  Syene,  where  there  were 
quarries,  and  especially  Thebes,  which  was  large  and 
remote,  a  tempting  place  for  fugitives. 

When  he  heard  the  news  of  the  young  sculptor's 
death,  he  actually  sent  a  message  of  condolence  to 
Mentu,  much  to  the  tearful  and  unspeakable  rage  of 
the  heart-broken  murket.  Yet,  with  all  the  limitless  re- 
sources placed  at  the  command  of  a  bearer  of  the 
king's  fan,  Har-hat  continued  to  search  for  the  young 
artist,  until  word  came  to  him  from  Thebes  several 
days  later. 

His  next  move  was  to  bring  to  the  notice  of  the 
Pharaoh  that  the  taskmaster  Atsu  was  pampering  the 
Israelites  of  Masaarah  and  defeating  the  ends  of  the 
government.  Furthermore,  the  overseer  had  treated 
with  contempt  the  personal  commands  of  the  fan- 
bearer.    So  Atsu  was  removed  entirely  from  over  the 


3o4  THE   YOKE 

Hebrews,  reduced  to  the  rank  of  a  common  soldier, 
and  returned  to  the  nome  from  which  he  came,  in  the 
coif  and  tunic  of  a  cavalryman. 

Thus  it  was  that  Har-hat  avenged  himself  for  the 
loss  of  Rachel,  put  all  aid  out  of  her  reach,  and  kept 
up  an  unceasing  pursuit  of  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  TOMB  OF  THE  PHARAOH 

It  was  far  into  the  tenth  night  that  Kenkenes  ar- 
rived in  Thebes.  On  the  sixteenth  day  Rachel  would 
begin  to  expect  him,  and  he  could  not  hope  to  reach 
Memphis  by  that  time.  She  should  not  wait  an  hour 
longer  than  necessary.  He  would  get  the  signet  that 
night  and  return  by  the  swiftest  boat  obtainable  in 
Thebes.  The  dawn  should  find  him  on  the  way  to 
Memphis. 

He  entered  the  streets  of  the  Libyan  suburb  of  the 
holy  city,  and  passed  through  it  to  the  scattering 
houses,  set  outside  the  thickly-settled  portion,  and 
nearer  to  the  necropolis.  At  the  portals  of  the  most 
pretentious  of  these  houses  he  knocked  and  was  ad- 
mitted. 

He  was  met  presently  in  the  chamber  of  guests  by 
an  old  man,  gray-haired  and  bent.  This  was  the 
keeper  of  the  tomb  of  Rameses  the  Great. 

"I  am  the  son  of  Mentu,"  he  said,  "thy  friend,  and 
the  friend  of  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh.  Perchance 
thou  dost  remember  me." 

"I  remember  Mentu,"  the  old  man  replied,  after  a 
space  that  might  have  been  spent  in  rumination,  or  in 
collecting  his  faculties  to  speak. 

305 


3o6  THE  YOKE 

"He  decorated  the  tomb  of  Rameses,"  the  young 
man  continued. 

"Aye,  I  remember.  I  watched  him  often  at  the 
work." 

"Thou  knowest  how  the  great  king  loved  him." 

The  old  man  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

",He  was  given  a  signet  by  Rameses,  and  on  the 
jewel  was  testimony  of  royal  favor  which  should  out- 
live the  Pharaoh  and  Mentu  himself." 

"Even  so.    A  precious  talisman,  and  a  rare  one." 

"It  was  lost." 

"Nay !  Lost !  Alas,  that  is  losing  the  favor  of 
Osiris.  What  a  calamity!"  The  old  man  shook  his 
head  and  his  gray  brows  knitted. 

"But  the  place  in  which  it  was  lost  is  small,  and  I 
would  search  for  it  again." 

"That  is  wise.  The  gods  aid  them  who  surrender 
not." 

By  this  time  the  old  man's  face  had  become  inquir- 
ing. 

"There  is  need  for  the  signet  now — " 

"The  noble  Mentu,  in  trouble  ?"  the  old  man  queried. 

"The  son  of  the  noble  Mentu  is  in  trouble — the 
purity  of  an  innocent  one  at  stake,  and  the  foiling  of  a 
villain  to  accomplish,"  Kenkenes  answered  earnestly. 

"A  sore  need.  Is  it —  Wouldst  thou  have  me  aid 
thee?" 

"Thou  hast  said.  I  come  to  thee  to  crave  thy  per- 
mission to  search  again  for  the  signet." 

"Nay,  but  I  give  it  freely.  Yet  I  do  not  under- 
stand." 

"The  signet  was  lost  in  the  tomb  of  the  Incompara- 
ble Pharaoh.    May  I  not  visit  the  crypt  ?" 


THE    TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       307 

The  old  man  thought  a  moment.  "Aye,  thou  canst 
search.    If  thou  wilt  come  for  me  to-morrow — " 

"Nay,  I  would  go  this  very  night." 

The  keeper's  face  sobered  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"Deny  me  not,  I  pray  thee,"  Kenkenes  entreated 
earnestly.  "Thou,  who  hast  lived  so  many  years,  hast 
at  some  time  weighed  the  value  of  a  single  moment.  In 
the  waste  or  use  of  the  scant  space  between  two  breaths 
have  lives  been  lost,  souls  smirched,  the  unlimited  his- 
tory of  the  future  turned.  And  never  was  a  greater 
stake  upon  the  saving  of  time  than  in  this  strait — 
which  is  the  peril  of  spotless  womanhood." 

The  old  man  rubbed  his  head.  "Aye,  I  know,  I 
know.    Thy  haste  is  justifiable,  but — " 

"I  can  go  alone.  There  is  no  need  that  thou  shouldst 
waste  an  hour  of  thy  needed  sleep  for  me.  I  pledge 
thee  I  shall  conduct  myself  without  thee  as  I  should 
beneath  thine  eye.  Most  reverently  will  I  enter,  most 
reverently  search,  most  reverently  depart,  and  none 
need  ever  know  I  went  alone." 

The  ancient  keeper  weakened  at  the  earnestness  of 
the  young  man. 

"And  thou  wilt  permit  no  eye  to  see  thee  enter  or 
come  forth  from  the  valley  ?" 

"Most  cautious  will  I  be — most  secret  and  dis- 
creet." 

"Canst  thou  open  the  gates  ?" 

"I  have  not  forgotten  from  the  daily. practice  that 
was  mine  for  many  weeks." 

"Then  go,  and  let  no  man  know  of  this.  Amen  give 
thee  success." 

Kenkenes  thanked  him  gratefully  and  went  at  once. 

The  moon  was  in  its  third  quarter,  but  it  was  near 


3o8  THE   YOKE 

midnight  and  the  valley  of  the  Nile  between  the  dis- 
tant highlands  to  the  east  and  west  was  in  soft  light. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  river  there  was  only  a 
feeble  glimmer  from  a  window  where  some  chanting 
leech  stood  by  a  bedside,  or  where  a  feast  was  still  on. 
But  under  the  luster  of  the  waning  moon  Thebes  lost 
its  outlines  and  became  a  city  of  marbles  and  shadows 
and  undefined  limits. 

On  the  western  side  the  vision  was  interrupted  by  a 
lofty,  sharp-toothed  range,  tipped  with  a  few  scat- 
tered stars  of  the  first  magnitude.  In  the  plain  at  its 
base  were  the  palaces  of  Amenophis  III,  of  Rameses 
II,  and  their  temples,  the  temples  of  the  Tothmes, 
and  far  to  the  south  the  majestic  colossi  of  Amenophis 
III  towered  up  through  the  silver  light,  the  faces,  in 
their  own  shadow,  turned  in  eternal  contemplation  of 
the  sunrise.  Grouped  about  the  great  edifices  were 
the  booths  of  funeral  stuffs  and  the  stalls  of  caterers 
to  the  populace  of  the  Libyan  suburb  of  Thebes.  But 
these  were  hidden  in  the  dark  shadows  which  the 
great  structures  threw.  The  moon  blotted  out  the 
profane  things  of  the  holy  city  and  discovered  only 
its  splendors  to  the  sky. 

At  the  northwest  limits  of  the  suburb,  the  hills  ap- 
proached the  Nile,  leaving  only  a  narrow  strip  a  few 
hundred  yards  wide  between  their  fronts  and  the 
water.  Here  the  steep  ramparts  were  divided  by  a 
tortuous  cleft,  which  wound  back  with  many  cross- 
fissures  deep  into  the  desert.  The  ravine  was  simply 
a  chasm,  with  perpendicular  sides  of  naked  rock. 

At  its  upper  end,  it  was  blocked  by  a  wall  of  un- 
scalable heights.  Nowhere  in  its  length  was  it  wider 
than  a  hundred  yards,  and  across  the  mouth  a  gate- 


THE    TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       309 

way  wide  enough  for  three  chariots  abreast  had  been 
built  of  red  granite. 

This  was  the  valley  of  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings. 

In  chambers  hewn  in  solid  rock,  the  monarchs  of 
the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  dynasties  were  en- 
tombed. All  along  the  walls  of  the  gorge,  nature  had 
secured  the  sacred  resting-place  of  the  sovereigns 
against  trespass  from  the  end  and  sides  of  the  chasm, 
and  Egypt  had  dutifully  strengthened  the  one  weak 
point  in  the  fortification — the  entrance — by  the  gate- 
way of  granite.  But  there  was  no  vigilance  of  guards. 
Whosoever  knew  how  to  open  the  gates  might  enter 
the  valley.  The  secret  of  the  bolts  was  known  only 
among  the  members  of  the  royal  family  and  the  court. 
To  Kenkenes,  whose  craft  as  a  sculptor  had  taught 
him  the  intricate  devices  used  in  closing  tombs,  the 
opening  of  these  gates  was  simple.  Even  the  mighty 
portals  of  Khufu  and  Menka-ra  would  yield  respon- 
sive to  his  intelligent  touch. 

He  let  himself  into  the  valley  and,  closing  the  valves 
behind  him,  went  up  the  tortuous  gorge,  darkened  by 
the  shadows  of  its  walls.  He  continued  past  the  mouth 
of  the  valley's  southern  arm  wherein  were  entombed 
the  kings  of  the  eighteenth  dynasty.  Here,  in  this 
open  space,  he  could  see  the  circling  bats,  which  be- 
fore he  could  only  hear  above  his  head.  Somewhere 
among  the  rocks  up  the  moonlit  hollow  an  owl  hooted. 
But  the  tombs  he  sought  were  in  the  upper  end  of  the 
main  ravine. 

Here  lay  Rameses  I,  the  founder  of  that  illustrious 
dynasty — the  nineteenth.  Near-by  was  his  son,  Seti  T, 
and  next  to  him  the  splendid  tyrant,  Rameses  the 
Great,  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh.      • 


3io  THE   YOKE 

By  the  time  Kenkenes  had  reached  the  spot,  all 
lightness  in  his  heart  had  gone  out  like  the  extinguish- 
ing of  a  candle,  and  the  weight  of  suspense,  the  fear 
of  failure,  fell  on  him  as  suddenly.  He  approached 
the  elaborate  faqade  of  the  solemn  portals,  climbed 
the  pairs  of  steps,  and  paused  at  each  of  the  many  land- 
ings with  a  prayer  for  the  success  of  his  mission,  not 
for  the  repose  of  the  royal  soul,  after  the  custom  of 
other  visitors.  With  trembling  hands  he  pushed  the 
doors,  rough  with  inscriptions,  and  the  great  stone 
valves  swung  ponderously  inward,  the  bronze  pins 
making  no  sound  as  they  turned  in  the  sockets.  Ken- 
kenes entered  and  closed  the  portals  behind  him. 

Instantly  all  sound  of  the  outside  world  was  cut  off 
— the  sound  of  the  wind,  the  chafing  of  the  sands  on 
the  hills  above,  the  movement  and  cries  of  night-birds, 
beasts  and  insects.  Absolute  stillness  and  original 
night  surrounded  him. 

With  all  speed  he  lighted  his  lamp,  but  the  flaring 
flame  illuminated  only  a  little  space  in  the  brooding, 
hovering  blackness  about  him. 

The  atmosphere  was  stagnant  and  heavily  burdened 
with  old  aromatic  scent,  and  the  silence  seemed  to  have 
accumulated  in  the  years.  Even  the  soft  whetting  of 
his  sandal,  as  he  walked,  made  echoes  that  shouted  at 
him.  The  little  blaze  fizzed  and  sputtered  noisily  and 
each  throb  of  his  heart  sounded  like  a  knock  on  the 
portal. 

He  did  not  pause.  The  darkness  might  cloud  and 
tinge  and  swallow  up  his  light  as  turbid  water  ab- 
sorbs the  clear;  the  silence  might  resent  the  violation. 
This  was  the  habitation  of  a  royal  soul  in  perpetual 
vigil  over  its  corpse  and  vested  with  all  the  powers 


THE   TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       311 

and  austere  propensities  of  a  thing  supernatural.  But 
not  once  did  the  impulse  come  to  him  to  fly.  Rachel's 
face  attended  him  like  a  lamp. 

He  moved  forward,  his  path  only  discovered  to  him 
step  by  step  as  the  light  advanced,  the  sumptuous 
frescoes  done  by  the  hand  of  his  father  emerging,  one 
detail  at  a  time.  The  solemn  figures  fixed  accusing 
eyes  upon  him  from  every  frieze ;  the  passive  coun- 
tenance of  the  monarch  himself  confronted  him  from 
every  wall.  One  wondrous  chamber  after  another  he 
traversed,  for  the  tomb  penetrated  the  very  core  of 
the  mountain. 

The  innermost  crypt  contained  the  altars.  This  was 
the  sanctuary,  the  holy  of  holies,  never  entered  ex- 
cept by  a  hierarch. 

When  Kenkenes  reached  the  final  threshold  he 
paused.  Thus  far,  his  presence  had  been  merely  a 
midnight  intrusion.  If  he  entered  the  sanctuary  his 
coming  would  be  violation.  He  thought  of  the  dis- 
tress of  Rachel  and  dared. 

The  first  alabaster  altar  glistened  suddenly  out  of 
the  night  like  a  bank  of  snow.  Kenkenes'  sandal 
grated  on  the  sandy  dust  that  lay  thick  on  the  floor. 
Not  even  the  keeper  had  entered  this  crypt  to  remove 
the  accumulated  dust  of  six  years. 

Under  this  floor  of  solid  granite  was  the  pit  con- 
taining the  sarcophagi  of  the  dead  monarch,  of  his 
favorite  son  and  destined  heir,  Shaemus,  and  his  well- 
beloved  queen,  Neferari  Thermuthis.  The  opening 
into  the  pit  had  been  sealed  when  Rameses  had  de- 
scended to  emerge  no  more.  The  chamber  over  it 
was  brilliant  with  frescoing  and  covered  with  inscrip- 
tions.   There  were  three  magnificent  altars  of  alabas- 


312  THE   YOKE 

ter  and  over  each  was  an  oval  containing  the  name  of 
one  of  the  three  sleepers  in  the  pit  below. 

In  this  chapel  the  signet  had  been  lost. 

Kenkenes  set  his  light  on  the  floor  and  began  his 
search.  The  first  time  he  searched  the  floor,  he  laid 
the  lack  of  success  to  his  excited  work.  The  second 
time,  the  perspiration  began  to  trickle  down  his  tem- 
ples. Thereafter  he  sought,  lengthwise  and  crosswise, 
calling  on  the  gods  for  aid,  but  there  was  no  glint  of 
the  jewel. 

At  last,  sick  with  despair,  he  sat  down  to  collect 
himself.  Suddenly  across  the  heavy  silence  there 
smote  a  sound.  In  a  place  closer  to  the  beating  heart 
of  the  world,  the  movement  might  have  escaped  him. 
Now,  though  it  was  but  the  rustle  of  sweeping  robes, 
it  seemed  to  sough  like  the  wind  among  the  clashing 
blades  of  palm-leaves. 

For  a  moment  Kenkenes  sat,  transfixed,  and  in  that 
moment  the  sound  came  nearer.  He  remembered  the 
injunction  of  the  old  keeper.  Human  or  supernatural, 
the  new-comer  must  not  find  him  there.  He  leaped 
behind  the  altar  of  Shaemus,  extinguishing  the  light 
as  he  did  so.  He  flung  the  corner  of  his  kamis  over 
the  reeking  wick  that  the  odor  might  not  escape,  but 
his  fear  in  that  direction  was'  materially  lessened  when 
he  saw  that  the  stranger  bore  a  fuming  torch. 

On  one  end  of  the  short  pole  of  the  torch  was  a  knot 
of  flaming  pitch,  on  the  other  was  a  bronze  ring  fitted 
with  sprawling  claws.  The  stranger  set  the  light  on 
the  floor  and  the  device  kept  the  torch  upright.  He 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  at  the  altar  of  Neferari 
Thermuthis. 


THE    TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       313 

By  the  deeply  fringed  and  voluminous  draperies, 
and  by  the  venerable  beard,  rippling  and  streaked  with 
gray,  the  young  sculptor  took  the  stranger  to  be  an 
Israelite.  As  Kenkenes  looked  upon  him,  he  was 
minded  of  his  father,  the  magnificent  Mentu.  There 
was  the  bearing  of  the  courtier,  with  the  same  won- 
drous stature,  the  same  massive  frame.  But  the  deli- 
cate features  of  the  Egyptian,  the  long,  slim  fingers, 
the  narrow  foot,  were  absent.  In  this  man's  coun- 
tenance there  was  majesty  instead  of  grace;  in  his 
figure,  might,  instead  of  elegance.  The  expression 
had  need  of  only  a  little  emphasis  in  either  direction 
to  become  benign  or  terrible.  Kenkenes  caught  a 
single  glance  of  the  eyes  under  the  gray  shelter  of  the 
heavy  brows.  Once,  the  young  man  had  seen  hanging 
from  Meneptah's  neck  the  rarest  jewel  in  the  royal 
treasure.  The  wise  men  had  called  it  an  opal.  It  shot 
lights  as  beautiful  and  awful  as  the  intensest  flame. 
And  something  in  the  eyes  of  this  mighty  man  brought 
back  to  Kenkenes  the  memory  of  the  fires  of  that  won- 
drous gem. 

The  stranger  stood  in  profound  meditation,  his 
splendid  head  gradually  sinking  until  it  rested  on 
his  breast.  The  arms  hung  by  the  sides.  The 
attitude  suggested  a  sorrow  healed  by  the  long  years 
until  it  was  no  more  a  pain,  but  a  memory  so  subdu- 
ing that  it  depressed.  At  last  the  great  man  sank  to 
his  knees,  with  a  movement  quite  in  keeping  with  his 
grandeur  and  his  mood,  and  bowed  his  head  on  his 
arms. 

Pressed  down  with  awe,  Kenkenes  followed  his  ex- 
ample,  and  although   he  seemed  to  kneel   on   some 


3H  THE   YOKE 

rough  chisel  mark  in  the  floor,  he  did  not  shift  his 
position.  The  discomfort  seemed  appropriate  as  peni- 
tence on  that  holy  occasion. 

After  a  long  time  the  stranger  arose,  took  up  the 
torch  and  quitted  the  chamber.  He  went  away  more 
slowly  than  he  had  come,  with  reluctant  step  and 
averted  face. 

When  night  and  profound  silence  were  restored  in 
the  crypt,  Kenkenes  regained  his  feet  and,  examining 
the  irritated  knee,  found  the  offending  object  clinging 
to  the  impression  it  had  made  in  the  flesh.  The  shape 
of  the  trifle  sent  a  wild  hope  through  his  brain.  Grop- 
ing through  the  dark,  he  found  his  lamp  and  lighted 
it  with  trembling  hands. 

He  held  the  lapis-lazuli  signet ! 

He  did  not  move.  He  only  grasped  the  scarab 
tightly  and  panted.  The  sudden  change  from  intense 
suspense  to  intense  relief  had  deprived  him  of  the 
power  of  expression.  Only  his  physical  make-up  man- 
ifested its  rebellion  against  the  shock. 

As  the  tumult  in  his  heart  subsided,  his  mind  began 
to  confront  him  with  happy  fancies.  Rachel  was  al- 
ready free.  In  that  moment  of  exuberance  he  thrust 
aside,  as  monstrous,  the  bar  of  different  faith.  He  be- 
lieved he  could  overcome  it  by  the  very  compelling 
power  of  his  love  and  the  righteousness  of  his  cause. 
He  spent  no  time  picturing  the  method  of  his  triumph 
over  it.  Beyond  that  obstacle  were  tender  pictures  of 
home-making,  love  and  life,  which  so  filled  him  with 
emotion  that,  in  a  sudden  ebullition  of  boyish  grati- 
tude, he  pressed  the  all-potent  signet  to  his  lips. 

Then,  his  cheeks  reddening  with  a  little  shame  at 
his  impulsiveness,  he  examined  the  scarab.    The  cord 


THE   TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       315 

by  which  it  had  been  suspended  passed  through  a  small 
gold  ring  between  the  claws  of  the  beetle.  This  had 
worn  very  thin  and  some  slight  wrench  had  broken  it. 

"Ah !"  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "It  is  even  as  I  had 
thought.  But  let  me  not  seem  to  boast  when  I  tell 
my  father  of  it.  It  will  be  victory  enough  for  me  to 
display  the  jewel,  and  abashment  enough  for  him  to 
know  he  was  wrong." 

He  ceased  to  speak,  but  the  echoes  talked  on  after 
him.  He  shivered,  caught  up  his  light  and  raced 
through  the  sumptuous  tomb  into  the  world  again. 

It  was  near  dawn  and  the  skies  were  pallid.  He 
was  hungry  and  weary  but  most  impatient  to  be  gone. 
He  would  repair  to  Thebes  and  break  his  fast.  There- 
after he  would  procure  the  swiftest  boat  on  the  Nile 
and  take  his  rest  while  speeding  toward  Memphis. 

The  inn  of  the  necropolis  was  like  an  immense 
dwelling,  except  that  the  courts  were  stable-yards. 
The  doors,  opening  off  the  porch,  were  always  open 
and  a  light  burned  by  night  within  the  chamber.  So 
long  and  so  murkily  had  it  burnt,  that  the  chamber 
Kenkenes  entered  was  smoky  and  redolent  of  it. 
Aside  from  a  high,  bench-like  table,  running  half  the 
length  of  the  rear  wall,  there  was  nothing  else  in  the 
room.  Kenkenes  rapped  on  the  table.  In  a  little  time 
an  Egyptian  emerged  from  under  the  counter,  on  the 
other  side.  Understanding  at  last  that  the  guest 
wished  to  be  fed,  he  staggered  sleepily  through  a  door 
and,  presently  reappearing,  signed  Kenkenes  to  enter. 

The  room  into  which  the  young  sculptor  was  con- 
ducted was  too  large  to  be  lighted  by  the  two  lamps, 
hung  from  hooks,  one  at  each  end  of  the  chamber. 
Down  either  side,  hidden  in  the  shadows,  were  long 


3i6  THE   YOKE 

benches,  and  from  the  huddled  heap  that  occupied  the 
full  length  of  each,  it  was  to  be  surmised  that  men 
were  sleeping  on  them.  Above  them  the  slatted 
blinds  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  small  windows 
and  the  morning  breeze  was  blowing  strongly  through 
the  chamber.  At  the  upper  end  was  another  table, 
similar  to  the  one  in  the  outer  room,  except  for  a  nap- 
kin in  the  middle  with  a  bottle  of  water  set  upon  it. 
An  Egyptian  woman  stood  beside  this  table  and  gave 
the  young  man  a  wooden  stool. 

As  Kenkenes  walked  toward  the  seat  a  stronger 
blast  of  wind  puffed  out  the  light  above  his  head.  The 
woman  climbed  up  to  take  the  lamp  down  and  set  it 
on  the  table  while  she  relighted  it.  The  skirt  of  her 
dress  caught  on  the  top  of  the  stool  she  had  mounted 
and  pulled  it  over  on  the  wooden  floor  with  a  sharp 
sound. 

One  of  the  sleepers  stirred  at  the  noise  and  turned 
over.    Presently  he  sat  up. 

Kenkenes  righted  the  stool  and  sat  down  on  it, 
the  light  shining  in  his  face.  He  saw  the  guest  in  the 
shadow  shake  off  the  light  covering  and  walk  swiftly 
through  the  door  into  the  outer  chamber. 

Meanwhile  the  silent  woman  served  her  guest  with 
cold  baked  water-fowl,  endives,  cucumbers,  wheat 
bread  and  grapes,  and  a  weak  white  wine.  Kenkenes 
ate  deliberately,  and  consumed  all  that  was  set  before 
him.  When  he  had  made  an  end,  he  paid  his  reckoning 
to  the  woman  and  returned  into  the  outer  chamber. 

At  the  doors,  he  was  confronted  by  four  members  of 
the  city  constabulary  and  a  Nubian  in  a  striped  tunic. 

"Seize  him!"  the  Nubian  cried.    Instantly  the  four 


THE   TOMB    OF   THE    PHARAOH       317 

men  flung  themselves  upon  Kenkenes  and  pinioned  his 
arms. 

"Nay,  by  the  gods,"  he  exclaimed  angrily.  "What 
mean  you?" 

"Parley  not  with  him,"  the  Nubian  said  in  excite- 
ment. "Get  him  in  bonds  stronger  than  the  grip  of 
hands.    He  is  muscled  like  a  bull." 

The  young  sculptor  looked  at  the  Nubian.  He  had 
seen  him  before — had  had  unpleasant  dealings  with 
him.  And  then  he  remembered,  so  suddenly  and  so 
fiercely  that  his  captors  felt  the  sinews  creep  in  his 
arms. 

"Set  spare  thee  and  thine  infamous  master  to  me !" 
he  exclaimed  violently. 

The  Nubian  retreated  a  little,  for  Kenkenes  had 
strained  toward  him. 

"Get  him  into  the  four  walls  of  a  cell,"  the  Nubian 
urged  the  guards.  "I  may  not  lose  him  again,  as  I 
value  my  head." 

The  guards  started  out  of  the  doors  and  Kenkenes 
went  with  them,  unresisting,  but  not  passively.  All 
the  thoughts  were  his  that  can  come  to  a  man,  on 
whose  freedom  depend  another's  life  and  happiness. 
Added  to  these  was  an  all-consuming  hate  of  her  ene- 
my and  his,  new-fed  by  this  latest  offense  from  Har- 
hat.  With  difficulty  he  kept  the  tumult  of  his  emotions 
from  manifesting  themselves  to  his  captors.  They 
feared  that  his  calm  was  ominous,  and  held  him  tightly. 

The  necropolis  was  not  astir  and  the  streets  were 
wind-haunted.  The  tread  of  the  six  men  set  dogs  to 
barking,  and  only  now  and  then  was  a  face  shown  at 
the  doorways.     For  this  Kenkenes  thanked  his  gods, 


318  THE   YOKE 

for  he  was  proud,  and  the  eye  of  the  humblest  slave 
upon  him  in  his  humiliating  plight  would  have  hurt 
him  more  keenly  than  blows. 

The  prison  was  a  square  building  of  rough  stone, 
flat-roofed,  three  stories  in  height.  The  red  walls 
were  broken  at  regular  intervals  by  crevices,  barred 
with  bronze.    There  was  but  one  entrance. 

Herein  were  confined  all  the  malefactors  of  the  great 
city  of  the  gods,  and  since  the  population  of  Thebes 
might  have  comprised  something  over  half  a  million 
inhabitants,  the  dwellers  of  that  grim  and  impregna- 
ble prison  were  not  few  in  number. 

Kenkenes  was  led  through  the  doors,  down  a  low- 
roofed,  narrow,  stone-walled  corridor  to  the  room  of 
the  governor  of  police. 

This  was  a  hall,  with  a  lofty  ceiling,  highly  colored 
and  supported  by  loteform  pillars  of  brilliant  stone. 
Toth,  the  ibis-headed,  and  the  Goddess  Ma,  crowned 
with  plumes,  her  wings  forward  drooping,  were 
painted  on  the  walls.  A  long  table,  massive,  plain  and 
solid  like  a  sarcophagus,  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  A  confused  litter  of  curled  sheets  of  papyrus, 
and  long  strips  of  unrolled  linen  scrolls  were  distrib- 
uted carelessly  over  the  polished  surface.  At  one  side 
were  eight  plates  of  stone — the  tables  of  law,  codified 
and  blessed  by  Toth. 

The  governor  of  police  was  absent,  but  his  vice,  who 
was  jailer  and  scribe  in  one,  sat  in  a  chair  behind  the 
great  table. 

When  the  party  entered,  he  sat  up,  undid  a  new 
scroll,  wetted  the  reed  pen  in  the  pigment,  and  was 
ready. 

"Name  ?"  he  began,  preparing  to  write. 


THE   TOMB   OF   THE   PHARAOH       319 

"That,  thou  knowest,"  Kenkenes  retorted.  The  Nu- 
bian bowed  respectfully  and  approaching,  whispered 
to  the  scribe.  The  official  ran  over  some  of  the  scrolls 
and  having  found  the  one  he  sought,  proceeded  to 
make  his  entries  from  the  information  contained 
therein. 

When  the  man  had  finished  Kenkenes  nodded  to- 
ward the  eight  volumes  of  the  law. 

"If  thou  art  as  acquainted  with  the  laws  of  Egypt  as 
thine  office  requires,  thou  knowest  that  no  free-born 
Egyptian  may  be  kept  ignorant  of  the  charge  that  ac- 
complished his  arrest.     Wherefore  am  I  taken?" 

"For  sacrilege  and  slave-stealing,"  the  scribe  replied 
calmly. 

"At  the  complaint  of  Har-hat,  bearer  of  the  king's 
fan,"  Kenkenes  added. 

"Until  such  time  as  stronger  proof  of  thy  misdeeds 
may  be  brought  against  thee,"  the  scribe  continued. 

"Even  so.  In  plainer  words,  I  shall  be  held  till  I 
confess  what  he  would  have  me  tell,  or  until  I  decay 
in  this  tomb.  Let  me  give  thee  my  word,  I  shall  do 
neither.    Unhand  me.     I  shall  not  attempt  to  escape." 

At  a  sign  from  the  scribe  the  four  men  released  him 
and  took  up  a  position  at  the  doors.  Kenkenes  opened 
his  wallet  and  displayed  the  signet.  The  scribe  took 
it  and  read  the  inscription.  There  was  no  doubting 
the  young  man's  right  to  the  jewel  for  here  was  the 
name  of  Mentu,  even  as  the  chief  adviser  had  given  it 
in  identifying  the  prisoner.  The  official  frowned  and 
stroked  his  chin. 

"This  petitions  the  Pharaoh,"  he  said  at  last.  "I 
can  not  pass  upon  it." 


320  THE   YOKE 

"Send  me  to  my  cell,  then,  and  do  thou  follow," 
Kenkenes  said.     "I  have  somewhat  to  tell  thee." 

"Take  him  to  his  cell,"  the  official  said  to  the  men 
as  he  returned  the  signet  to  the  prisoner.  "I  shall 
attend  him." 

Kenkenes  was  led  into  a  corridor,  wide  enough  for 
three  walking  side  by  side.  There  was  no  light  therein, 
but  the  foremost  of  the  four  stooped  before  what 
seemed  a  section  of  solid  wall  and  after  a  little  fumb- 
ling, a  massive  door  swung  inward. 

The  chamber  into  which  it  led  was  wide  enough  for 
a  pallet  of  straw  laid  lengthwise,  with  passage  room 
between  it  and  the  opposite  wall.  The  foot  of  the  bed 
was  within  two  feet  of  the  door.  Between  the  stones, 
in  the  opposite  end  near  the  ceiling,  was  a  crevice, 
little  wider  than  two  palms.  This  noted,  the  interior 
of  the  cell  has  been  described. 

The  jailer  entered  after  him,  and  let  the  door  fall 
shut. 

"I  have  but  to  crave  a  messenger  of  thee — a  swift 
and  a  sure  one — one  who  can  hold  his  peace  and  hath 
pride  in  his  calling.  I  can  offer  all  he  demands.  And 
this,  further.  Keep  his  going  a  secret,  for  I  am  beset 
and  I  would  not  have  my  rescue  by  the  Pharaoh 
thwarted." 

"I  can  send  thee  a  messenger,"  the  jailer  answered. 

"Ere  midday,"  Kenkenes  added. 

"I  hear,"  the  passive  official  assented. 

The  solid  section  of  wall  swung  shut  behind  him  and 
the  great  bolts  shot  into  place. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


THE   PETITION 


Some  time  later  the  bar  rattled  down  again,  and  the 
jailer  stood  without,  a  scribe  at  his  side.  At  a  sign 
from  the  jailer,  the  latter  made  as  though  to  enter, 
but  Kenkenes  stopped  him. 

"I  have  need  of  your  materials  only,"  he  said,  "but 
the  fee  shall  be  yours  nevertheless."  The  man  set  his 
case  on  the  floor  and  Kenkenes  put  a  ring  of  silver  in 
the  outstretched  palm. 

"Fail  me  not  in  a  faithful  messenger,"  the  prisoner 
repeated  to  the  jailer.  The  official  nodded,  and  the 
door  was  closed  again. 

Kenkenes  sat  on  the  floor  beside  the  case,  laid  the 
cover  back  and  taking  out  materials,  wrote  thus : 

"To  my  friend,  the  noble  Hotep,  greeting : 

"This  from  Kenkenes,  whom  ill-fortune  can  not 
wholly  possess,  while  he  may  call  thee  his  friend. 

"I  speak  to  thee  out  of  the  prison  at  Tape,  where  I 
am  held  for  stealing  a  bondmaiden  and  for  executing 
a  statue  against  the  canons  of  the  sculptor's  ritual. 
The  accumulated  penalty  for  these  offenses  is  great — 
my  plight  is  most  serious. 

"The  pitying  gods  have  left  me  one  chance  for 
escape.    If  I  fail  I  shall  molder  here,  for  my  counsel 

321 


322  THE   YOKE 

is  mine  and  the  demons  of  Amenti  shall  not  rend  it 
from  me. 

"The  tale  is  short  and  miserable.  But  for  the  ne- 
cessity I  would  not  repeat  it,  for  it  publishes  the  hu- 
miliation of  sweet  innocence. 

"Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  offended  is  she  of  whom  we 
talked  one  day  on  the  hill  back  of  Masaarah;  the 
offender  is  Har-hat  who  hath  buried  me  here  in  Tape. 

"One  morning  he  saw  her  at  the  quarries  and,  taken 
with  her  beauty,  asked  her  at  the  hands  of  the  Pharaoh, 
for  the  hatefullest  bondage  pure  maidenhood  ever 
knew. 

"She  fled  from  the  minions  he  sent  to  take  her,  and 
came  to  me  in  that  spot  on  the  hillside  where  thou  and 
I  did  talk. 

"There  the  minions  found  us,  and  by  the  evidence 
they  looked  upon,  I  am  further  charged  with  sacrilege. 

"Thou  dost  remember  the  all-powerful  signet,  which 
my  father  had  from  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh.  He 
lost  it  in  the  tomb  of  the  king,  three  years  ago,  aban- 
doning the  search  for  it  before  I  was  assured  that  it 
was  not  to  be  found. 

"So  strong  was  my  faith  that  the  signet  was  in  the 
tomb,  that  when  this  disaster  overtook  her,  I  came  to 
Tape  at  once  to  look  again  for  the  treasure.    I  found  it. 

"But  by  some  unknowable  mischance  mine  enemy 
discovered  my  whereabouts  and  a  third  minion,  who 
escaped  my  wrath  before  the  statue  that  morning, 
appeared  in  the  city  and  caused  me  to  be  delivered  up 
to  the  authorities  on  the  charges  already  named. 

"She  is  hidden,  and  I  have  provided  for  her  protec- 
tion, as  well  as  I  may,  against  the  wishes  of  the  strong- 
est man  in  the  land.     For  her  immediate  welfare  I  am 


THE    PETITION  323 

not  greatly  troubled.  But,  alas !  I  would  be  with  her 
— thou  knowest,  O  my  Hotep,  the  hunger  and  heart- 
ache of  such  separation. 

"If  the  Pharaoh  honor  not  the  signet  herein  inclosed, 
tell  my  father  of  my  plight,  let  me  know  the  decision 
of  the  king,  and  then  I  shall  trust  to  the  Hathors  for 
liberty. 

"Of  this  contingency,  I  would  not  speak  at  length. 
It  may  be  tempting  the  caprice  of  the  Seven  Sisters 
to  presuppose  such  misfortune. 

"Let  not  my  father  intervene  for  me.  He  shall  not 
endanger  himself  further  than  I  have  already  asked 
of  him. 

"But  remember  thou  this  injunction  most  surely. 
That  it  shall  be  last  and  therefore  freshest  in  thy  mem- 
ory, I  put  this  at  the  end  of  the  letter. 

"Put  the  petition  herein  inclosed  into  the  Pharaoh's 
hands!  For  my  life's  sake  let  it  not  come  into  the 
possession  of  any  other. 

"I  shall  write  no  more.  My  scant  eloquence  must 
be  saved  for  the  king. 

"Gods!  but  it  is  good  to  have  faith  in  a  friend.  I 
salute  thee.  Kenkenes." 

The  letter  to  Hotep  complete,  Kenkenes  took  up 
another  roll  and  wrote  thus  to  Meneptah : 

"To  Meneptah,  Beloved  of  Ptah,  Ambassador  of 
Amen,  Vicar  of  Ra,  Lord  over  Upper  and  Lower 
Egypt*  greeting:" 

At  this  point  he  paused.  His  power  of  expression, 
aghast  at  the  magnitude  of  the  stake  laid  on  its  sue- 


324  THE   YOKE 

cessful  use,  became  panic-stricken  and  fled  from  him. 
He  feared  that  words  could  not  be  chosen  which  would 
justify  his  sacrilege  or  prove  his  claims  to  Rachel 
greater  than  Har-hat's.  Meneptah  would  be  hedged 
about  with  prejudice  against  his  first  cause,  and  de- 
terred by  the  prior  right  of  Har-hat,  in  the  second. 
The  last  man  that  talked  with  the  king  molded  him. 
Flattery  alone  might  prevail  against  coercion.  It  was 
the  one  hope. 

Kenkenes  seized  his  pen  and  wrote : 

"This  from  thy  subject,  Kenkenes,  the  son  of  Mentu, 
thy  murket. 

"I  give  thee  a  true  story,  O  Defender  of  Women. 

"There  is  a  maiden  whose  kinsmen  died  of  hard  labor 
in  the  service  of  Egypt.  Not  one  was  left  to  care  for 
her.  Of  all  her  house,  she  alone  remains.  They  died 
in  ignominy.  Shall  the  last  remnant  of  the  unhappy 
family  be  stamped  out  in  dishonor  ? 

"If  one  came  before  thee  seeking  to  insult  innocence, 
and  another  begging  leave  to  protect  it,  thou  wouldst 
choose  for  him  who  would  keep  pure  the  undefiled. 
Have  I  not  said,  O  my  King? 

"Before  thee,  even  now  is  such  a  choice. 

"Already  thou  hast  given  over  the  mastership  of 
Rachel,  daughter  of  Maai  the  Israelite,  to  thy  fan- 
bearer,  Har-hat.  By  the  lips  of  his  own  servants,  I 
am  informed  that  he  would  have  put  her  in  his  harem. 

"She  fled  from  him  and  I  hid  her  away,  for  I  could 
not  bear  to  deliver  her  up  to  the  despoiler. 

"I  love  her — she  loveth  me.  Wilt  thou  not  give  her 
to  me  to  wife  ? 


THE   PETITION     .  325 

/ 

"Thine  illustrious  sire  bespeaketh  thy  favor,  out  of 
Amenti.     Behold  his  signet  and  its  injunction. 

"Furthermore,  I  confess  to  sacrilege  against  Athor, 
in  carving  a  statue  which  ignored  the  sculptor's  ritual. 
For  this,  and  for  hiding  the  Israelite,  am  I  imprisoned 
in  the  city  stronghold  of  Tape. 

"I  would  be  free  to  return  to  my  love  and  comfort 
her,  but  if  it  shall  overtax  thy  generosity  to  release  me, 
I  pray  thee  announce  my  sentence  and  let  me  begin 
to  count  the  hours  till  I  shall  come  forth  again. 

"The  Israelite  hath  a  nurse,  a  feeble  and  sick  old 
woman,  Deborah  by  name,  whom  the  minions  of  Har- 
hat  abused.  She  can  be  of  no  further  use  in  servitude, 
and  I  would  have  thee  set  her  free  to  bear  company 
to  her  love,  the  white-souled  Rachel. 

"But  if  these  last  prayers  imperil  the  first  by  strain 
upon  thy  indulgence,  O  Beloved  of  Ptah,  do  thou  set 
them  aside,  and  grant  only  the  safety  of  the  oppressed 
maiden. 

"These  to  thy  hand,  by  the  hand  of  the  scribe,  Hotep. 

"Kenkenes." 

The  letter  complete,  he  summoned  the  messenger. 

"How  swift  art  thou  ?"  he  asked. 

"So  swift  that  my  service  is  desired  beyond  mine 
opportunities  to  accept,"  was  the  answer. 

"How  is  it  that  thou  art  ready  to  serve  me?  Thou 
seest  my  plight." 

"The  jailer  spoke  of  thee  as  petitioning  the  Pharaoh. 
The  king  is  in  the  north  where  I  have  not  been  in  all 
the  reign  of  Meneptah.  Thou  offerest  me  a  pleasure 
and  the  fee  shall  be  in  proportion  to  the  length  of  the 
journey." 


326  THE   YOKE 

"Nay,  but  thou  art  a  genius.  Thou  dost  move  me 
to  imitate  the  Hathors,  since  they  add  fortune  to  the 
already  fortunate.  Mark  me.  I  will  give  thee  thy 
fee  now.  If  thou  dost  return  me  a  letter  showing 
that  thou  hast  carried  the  message  with  all  faith  and 
speed,  I  shall  give  thee  another  fee  on  thy  home-com- 
ing.    What  thinkest  thou?" 

The  man  smiled  and  nodded.  "Naught  but  the 
darts  of  Amenti  shall  delay  me." 

Kenkenes  gave  him  the  message,  and  a  handful  of 
rings.  The  man  expressed  his  thanks,  •  after  which 
he  went  forth,  and  the  door  was  barred. 

Kenkenes  stood  for  a  while,  motionless  before  the 
tightly  fitted  portal  of  stone.  Then  through  the  high 
crevice  that  was  his  window  the  sounds  of  life  outside 
smote  upon  his  ear.  The  noise  of  the  city  seemed  to 
become  all  revel.  Some  one  under  the  walls  laughed 
— the  hearty,  raucous  laugh  of  the  care-free  boor. 

He  turned  about  and  flung  himself  face  down  in  the 
straw  of  his  pallet. 

He  had  begun  to  wait. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES 


By  the  twentieth  of  May,  the  court  of  Meneptah 
was  ready  to  proceed  to  Tanis. 

The  next  week  the  Pharaoh  would  depart.  To-night 
he  received  noble  Memphis  for  a  final  revel. 

His  palace  was  aglow,  from  its  tremendous  portals 
to  the  airy  hypostyle  upon  its  roof  and  from  far-reach- 
ing wing  to  wing,  with  countless  colored  lights.  From 
every  architrave  and  cornice  depended  garlands  and 
draperies,  and  tinted  banners  waved  unseen  in  the 
dark.  The  great  loteform  pillars  supporting  the  porch 
were  festooned  with  lotus  flowers,  and  the  approaches 
were  strewn  with  palm-leaves. 

The  guests  came  in  chariots  with  but  a  single  atten- 
dant or  in  litters  accompanied  by  a  gorgeous  retinue 
and  much  authority.  Charioteers  swore  full-mouthed 
oaths  and  smote  slaves ;  horses  reared  and  plunged 
and  bearers  hurried  back  through  the  dark  with  empty 
chairs.  Meanwhile  the  pacing  sentries  made  frank 
criticism  and  gazed  at  each  alighting  new-comer  with 
eyes  of  connoisseurs. 

When  the  portals  opened,  a  broad  shaft  of  light 
shot  into  the  night,  a  multitude  of  attendants  was  seen 
bowing ;  gusts  of  reedy  music  and  babble  and  the  smell 

327 


328  THE   YOKE 

of  wilting  flowers  and  Puntish  incense  swept  into  the 
outer  air. 

Within,  the  great  feast  began  and  proceeded  to  com- 
pleteness. The  tables  were  removed  and  the  stage  of 
the  revel  was  far  advanced.  The  levels  of  scented 
vapor  from  the  aromatic  torches  undulated  midway 
between  the  ceiling  and  the  floor  and  belted  the  fres- 
coes upon  the  paneled  walls.  Far  up  the  vaulted 
hall,  the  Pharaoh  and  his  queen,  in  royal  isolation, 
were  growing  weary. 

The  lions  chained  to  their  lofty  dais  slept.  The 
guardian  nobles  that  stood  about  the  royal  pair  leaned 
heavily  upon  their  arms. 

Out  in  the  sanded  strip  across  the  tessellated  floor, 
tumblers  were  glistening  with  perspiration  from  their 
vaguely  noticed  efforts.  Apart  from  the  guests  the 
painted  musicians  squatted  close  together  and  made 
the  air  vibrant  with  the  softly  monotonous  strumming 
of  their  instruments. 

The  company,  which  was  large,  had  fallen  into  easy 
attitudes;  an  exciting  game  of  drafts,  or  a  story- 
teller, or  a  beauty,  attracting  groups  here  and  there 
over  the  hall. 

Before  one  table,  whereon  the  scattered  pawns  of  a 
game  yet  lay,  Rameses  lounged  in  a  deep  chair,  a  semi- 
recumbent  figure  in  marble  and  obsidian.  Beside  him, 
where  she  had  seated  herself  at  his  command,  was 
Masanath. 

There  was  Seti  at  Ta-user's  side,  but  Io  was  not  at 
the  feast.  She  mourned  for  Kenkenes.  Ta-meri  was 
there,  the  bride  of  a  week  to  Nechutes,  who  hovered 
about  her  without  eye  or  ear  for  any  other  of  the 
company.     Siptah,  Menes,  Har-hat,  all  of  the  group 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  329 

save  Hotep  and  Kenkenes,  were  present  and  near 
enough  to  be  of  the  crown  prince's  party,  yet  scattered 
sufficiently  to  talk  among  themselves. 

The  game  of  drafts,  prolonged  from  one  to 
many,  had  ended  disastrously  for  the  prince  in  spite 
of  his  most  gallant  efforts  to  win.  Masanath,  against 
whom  he  had  played,  finally  thrust  the  pawns  away 
and  refused  to  play  further  with  him. 

"Thou  dost  make  sport  for  the  Hathors,  O  Prince," 
she  said.  "Have  respect  for  thyself  and  indulge  their 
caprice  no  more." 

"Hast  thou  not  heard  that  we  may  compel  the  gods  ?" 
he  asked.  "Perhaps  I  do  but  indulge  them,  of  a  truth. 
But  let  me  set  mine  own  will  against  fate  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  losing  for  me." 

"It  is  a  precarious  game.  Perchance  there  is  as 
strong  a  will  as  thine,  compelling  the  Hathors  contrar- 
ily  to  thine  own  desires.  What,  then,  O  Rameses  ?" 

"By  the  gambling  god,  Toth,  I  shall  try  it !"  he  ex- 
claimed.   "The  opportunity  is  before  me  even  now." 

He  took  her  hand. 

"I  catch  thy  meaning,  Beloved  of  Isis !  Thou  didst 
challenge  me  long  ago,  and  long  ago  I  took  it  up. 
Thus  far  have  we  fenced  behind  shields.  Down  with 
the  bull-hide,  now,  and  bare  the  heart !" 

"Thou  dost  forget  thyself,"  she  retorted,  wrenching 
her  hand  from  him.  "The  eyes  of  thy  guests  are  upon 
thee." 

He  laughed.  "The  prince's  doings  become  the 
fashion.  Let  me  be  seen  and  there  shall  be  no  woman's 
hand  unpossessed  in  this  chamber." 

"Thou  shalt  set  no  fashion  by  me.  Neither  shalt 
thou  rend  the  Hathors  between  thy  wishes  and  mine. 


330  THE   YOKE 

Furthermore,  if  thou  dost  forget  thy  princely  dignity, 
thy  power  will  not  prevent  me  if  I  would  remind  thee 
of  thy  lapse." 

"War !"  he  exclaimed.  "Now,  by  the  battling  hosts 
of  Set,  never  have  I  met  a  foe  so  worthy  the  overcom- 
ing. Listen !  Dost  thou  know  that  I  have  sorrows  ? 
Dost  thou  remember  that  I  may  have  sleepless  nights 
and  unhappy  days — discontents,  heartaches  and  op- 
pressions? I  am  not  less  human  because  I  am  royal, 
but  because  I  am  royal  I  am  more  unhappy.  Sorry 
indeed  is  a  prince's  lot!  Wherefore?  Because  he  is 
sated  with  submission ;  because  he  hath  drunk  satiety 
to  its  very  dregs ;  because  he  hath  been  denied  the  heal- 
ing hunger  of  appetite,  ambition,  conquest.  How  hath 
my  miserable  heart  longed  to  aspire — to  conquer!  I 
have  starved  for  something  beyond  my  reach.  But  lo ! 
in  thee  I  have  found  what  I  sought.  Thou  hast  defied 
me,  rebuffed  me,  thwarted  me  till  the  surfeited  soul 
in  me  hath  grown  fat  upon  resistance.  Now  shall  the 
longing  to  conquer  that  racketh  me  be  fed !  Go  on  in 
thy  rebellion,  Masanath!  Gods!  but  thou  art  a  foe 
worthy  the  subduing !  I  would  not  have  thee  give  up  to 
me  now.  I  would  earn  thee  by  defeats,  losses  and 
many  scars.  And  thy  kiss  of  submission,  in  some  far 
day,  will  give  me  more  joy  than  the  instant  capitulation 
of  many  empires." 

"Thou  hast  provided  thyself  with  lifelong  warfare, 
and  triumph  to  thine  enemy  at  the  end,"  she  answered 
serenely. 

Her  reply  seemed  to  awaken  a  train  of  thought  in 
the  prince.  He  did  not  respond  immediately.  He 
leaned  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  clasping  his  hands 


-       THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  331 

before  him,  thought  a  while.  In  the  silence  the  talk  of 
the  others  was  audible. 

"The  festivities  of  Memphis  have  lost  two,  since  they 
lost  one,"  Menes  mused. 

"Give  us  thy  meaning,"  Nechutes  asked. 

"Hast  seen  Hotep  in  Memphian  revels  since  Ken- 
kenes  died  ?"  the  captain  asked,  by  way  of  answer. 

Nechutes  shook  his  head.  "The  gods  have  dealt 
heavily  with  Mentu,"  he  said  after  a  little  silence. 
"Not  even  the  body  of  his  son  returned  to  him  for 
burial !" 

Har-hat,  who  had  been  perched  on  the  arm  of  Ta- 
meri's  chair,  broke  in. 

"Mayhap  the  young  man  is  not  dead,"  he  surmised. 

"All  the  Memphian  nome  hath  been  searched,  my 
Lord,"  Menes  protested. 

"Aye,  but  these  flighty  geniuses  are  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  doings  of  other  men.  Perhaps  he  hath  gone  to 
teach  the  singing  girls  at  Abydos  or  Tape." 

"Ah,  my  Lord  I"  protested  Ta-meri,  horrified. 

"Nay,  now,"  Har-hat  responded,  bending  over  her. 
"I  but  give  his  friends  hope.  To  prove  my  sincerity  I 
will  wager  my  biggest  diamond  against  thy  three 
brightest  smiles  that  thou  wilt  hear  of  Kenkenes  again, 
alive  and  dreamy  as  ever,  led  into  this  strange  absence 
by  some  moonshine  caprice." 

"I  would  give  more  than  my  biggest  diamond  to 
believe  thee,"  Nechutes  muttered,  turning  away. 

"Wilt  thou  wager?"  the  fan-bearer  demanded  with' 
animation. 

"Nay!"  was  the  cup-bearer's  blunt  reply.  Har-hat 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  lapsed  into  silence.    Rame- 


332  THE  YOKE 

ses  leaned  toward  Masanath  again.  The  expression 
on  his  face  during  the  talk  and  the  tone  he  chose  now 
showed  that  he  had  not  heard,  nor  was  even  conscious 
of  the  silence  that  had  fallen.  His  words  were  low- 
spoken,  but  each  of  his  companions  heard. 

"In  warfare  it  is  common  for  a  foe  to  hedge  his 
adversary  about  so  that  fight  he  must.  Thou  art  a 
woman  and  cunning,  and  lest  thou  join  thyself  to  an- 
other and  elude  me  ere  the  battle  is  on,  I  would  better 
treat  thee  to  a  strategy.  I  shall  wed  thee  first  and  woo 
thee  afterward." 

Ta-user  leaned  across  the  table,  and  sweeping  the 
pawns  away  with  her  arms,  said,  with  a  smile : 

"Quarreling  over  a  game  of  drafts!  Which  is  in 
distress — in  need  of  allies  ?" 

"Come  thou  and  be  my  mercenary,  Ta-user,"  Masa- 
nath said  with  impulsive  gratitude.  "Rameses  hath 
lost  and  demands  restitution  beyond  reason." 

Har-hat  had  risen  the  instant  the  words  had  passed 
the  prince's  lips  and  left  the  group.  He  did  not  wish 
to  let  his  face  be  seen.  A  dash  of  dark  color  grew  in 
the  heir's  pallid  cheeks,  partly  because  he  knew  he  had 
been  heard,  partly  because  he  was  angry  at  the 
princess'  interruption. 

"Strange,"  mused  Menes  once  again,  "that  the 
phrases  of  war  mark  the  babble  of  even  the  maidens 
these  days.  And  half  the  revels  end  in  quarrels. 
Though  I  be  young  in  war  experience,  I  would  say  the 
omens  point  to  conflict  in  which  Egypt  shall  be  em- 
broiled." 

"Aye,  Menes ;  and  perchance  thou  wilt  be  measur- 
ing swords  with  a  Hebrew  ere  the  summer  is  old," 
Siptah  said,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  333 

"Matching  thy  good  saber-metal  with  a  trowel  or  a 
hay-fork,  Menes,"  Rameses  sneered. 

"Hold,  thou  doughty  pride  of  the  battling  gods!" 
Menes  cried  laughingly  to  Rameses.  "For  once,  I 
scout  thy  prophecies.  The  Hebrews  are  stirred  up 
beyond  any  settling,  save  thou  dost  put  them  all  to  the 
sword,  and  that  is  a  task  that  I  would  go  to  Tuat  to 
escape.  Thou  wilt  not  work  the  Israelite  to  death. 
I  can  tell  thee  that !" 

"Hast  caught  the  infectious  terror  of  the  infant- 
scaring,  bugbear  Hebrew?"  Rameses  asked. 

Menes  leaned  against  the  nearest  knee  and  smiled 
lazily. 

"If  the  gray-beard  sorcerer  did  meet  me  in  open  field, 
protected  only  with  bull-hide  and  armed  with  a  spear, 
I  would  fight  him  till  he  said  'enough' ;  but  who  wants 
to  go  against  an  incantation  that  would  mow  down  an 
army  at  the  muttering  ?  Not  I ;  yea,  Rameses,  I  am  a 
craven  in  battle  with  a  sorcerer." 

"If  he  means  to  blast  us,  wherefore  hath  he  not 
spoken  the  cabalistic  word  ere  this?"  the  prince  de- 
manded. 

"He  had  no  personal  provocation  until  late,"  the 
captain  replied. 

"Hath  the  taskmaster  set  him  to  making  brick?" 
the  prince  laughed. 

"Nay;  but  the  priesthood  plotted  against  his  head, 
and  he  is  angry." 

Rameses  raised  himself  and  looked  fixedly  at  the 
soldier.   Again  Menes  laughed. 

"Spare  me,  my  Prince !  It  is  no  longer  a  state  secret. 
It  is  out  and  over  all  Egypt.  Why  it  came  not  to  thine 


334  THE   YOKE 

ears  I  know  not.  Perchance  every  one  is  afraid  to 
gossip  to  thee  save  mine  unabashed  self." 

"Waster  of  the  air!"  Rameses  exclaimed.  "What 
meanest  thou  ?" 

"It  seems  that  the  older  priests  have  a  hieratic 
grudge  against  the  Israelite,  and  when  he  returned  into 
Egypt  they  set  themselves,  with  much  bustle,  import- 
ance and  method  to  silence  him.  Hither  and  thither 
they  sent  for  advice,  permission  and  aid,  till  all  the 
wheels  of  the  hierarchy  were  in  motion,  and  the  air 
quivered  with  portent  and  intent.  Vain  ado !  Superflu- 
ous preparation !  The  very  letter  which  gave  them 
explicit  and  formal  permission  to  begin  to  get  ready 
to  commence  to  put  away  the  Hebrew,  fell — by  the 
mischievous  Hathors ! — fell  into  the  hands  of  the  vic- 
tim himself!" 

Rameses  fell  back  into  his  chair,  his  lips  twitching 
once  or  twice,  a  manifestation  of  his  genuine  amuse- 
ment. 

"As  it  follows,  the  Israelite  is  angry.  So  the  witch- 
pot  hath  been  put  on,  and  in  council  with  a  toad  and  a 
cat  and  an  owl,  he  thinketh  up  some  especial  sending 
to  curse  us  with,"  the  captain  concluded. 

"A  proper  ending,"  Rameses  declared  after  a  little. 
"Let  men  kill  each  other  openly,  if  they  will,  but  the 
methods  of  the  ambushed  assassin  should  recoil  upon 
himself." 

At  this  point  it  was  seen  that  the  Pharaph  and  his 
queen  were  preparing  to  leave  the  hall.  All  the  com- 
pany arose,  and  after  the  royal  pair  had  passed  out  the 
guests  began  to  depart.  Rameses  left  his  party  and, 
joining  Har-hat,  led  the  fan-bearer  away  from  the 
company. 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  335 

"It  seems  that  thou,  with  others,  heardest  my  words 
with  Masanath,"  the  prince  began  at  once.  "It  is  well, 
for  it  saves  me  further  speech  now.  I  want  thy  daugh- 
ter as  my  queen." 

Har-hat  seemed  to  ponder  a  little  before  he  an- 
swered. "Masanath  does  not  love  thee,"  he  said  at 
last. 

"Nay,  but  she  shall." 

"That  granted,  there  are  further  reasons  why  ye 
should  not  wed,"  the  fan-bearer  resumed  after  an- 
other pause.  "Masanath  would  come  between  Egypt 
and  Egypt's  welfare.  Thou  knowest  what  thy  mar- 
riage with  the  Princess  Ta-user  is  expected  to  accom- 
plish. At  this  hour  the  nation  is  in  need  of  unity  that 
she  may  safely  do  battle  with  her  alien  foes.  If  thou 
slightest  Ta-user  thou  wilt  add  to  the  disaffection  of 
Amon-meses  and  his  party.  Furthermore,  thine  august 
sire  would  not  be  pleased  with  thee  nor  with  Masa- 
nath, nor  with  me.  It  is  not  my  place  to  show  thee  thy 
duty,  Rameses,  but  of  a  surety  it  is  my  place  to  refuse 
to  join  thee  in  thy  neglecting  of  it." 

Rameses  contemplated  the  fan-bearer  narrowly  for 
a  moment.  "Come,  thou  hast  a  game,"  he  said  finally. 
"Out  with  it !    Name  thy  stake." 

"O,  thou  art  most  discourteous,  my  Prince,"  the  fan- 
bearer  remonstrated,  turning  away.  But  Rameses 
planted  himself  in  his  path. 

"Stay!"  he  said  grimly.  "Dost  thou  believe  me  so 
blind  as  to  think  thee  sincere?  Thou  canst  use  thy 
smooth  pretenses  upon  the  Pharaoh,  but  I  understand 
thee,  Har-hat.  Declare  thyself  and  vex  me  no  fur- 
ther with  thy  subtleties."  Har-hat  measured  the 
prince's  patience  before  he  answered. 


336  THE   YOKE 

"When  thou  canst  use  me  courteously,  Rameses," 
he  said  with  dignity,  "I  shall  talk  with  thee  again. 
Meanwhile  do  not  build  on  wedding  with  Masanath. 
I  shall  mate  her  with  him  who  hath  respect  for  her 
father." 

For  a  moment  Rameses  stood  in  doubt.  Could  it  be 
that  this  soulless  man  had  scruples  against  giving  him 
Masanath?  But  Har-hat,  allowed  a  chance  to  leave 
the  prince  if  he  would,  had  not  moved.  Rameses  un- 
derstood the  act.  The  fan-bearer  was  awaiting  a  pro- 
pitious opportunity  to  name  his  price  gracefully.  The 
momentary  warmth  of  respect  died  in  the  prince's 
heart. 

"Out  with  it,"  he  insisted  more  calmly.  "What  is 
it?  Power,  wealth  or  a  wife?  These  three  things 
I  have  to  give  thee.    Take  thy  choice." 

"I  would  have  thee  use  me  respectfully,  reverently," 
Har-hat  retorted  warmly.  "I  would  have  thee  speak 
favorably  of  me;  I  would  have  thee  do  me  no  injus- 
tice by  deed  or  word,  nor  peril  my  standing  with  the 
king !    This  I  demand  of  thee — I  will  not  buy  it  1" 

"To  be  plain,"  Rameses  continued  placidly,  "thou 
wouldst  insure  to  thyself  the  position  of  fan-bearer. 
Say  on." 

"I  am  fan-bearer  to  the  king,"  Har-hat  continued 
with  a  show  of  increasing  heat,  "and  I  would  fill  mine 
office.  If  thou  art  to  be  his  adviser  in  my  stead,  do 
thou  take  up  the  plumes,  and  I  will  return  to  Bubas- 
tis." 

"Once  again  I  shall  interpret.    I  am  to  keep  silence 
in  the  council  chamber  and  resign  to  thee  the  mold- 
ing of  my  plastic  father.     It  is  well,  for  I  am  not  ■ 
pleased  with  ruling  before  I  wear  the  crown.     But 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  337 

mark  me !  Thou  shalt  not  advise  me  when  I  rule  over 
Egypt.  So  take  heed  to  my  father's  health  and  see 
that  his  life  is  prolonged,  for  with  its  end  shall  end 
thine  advisership.   What  more  ?" 

"So  thou  observest  these  things  I  am  satisfied." 

"Gods!  but  thou  art  moderate.  Masanath  is  worth 
more  than  that.    Do  I  take  her  ?" 

"She  does  not  love  thee." 

The  prince  waved  his  hand  and  repeated  his  ques- 
tion. ■ 

"I  shall  speak  with  her,"  Har-hat  responded,  "and 
give  thee  her  word." 

For  a  moment  the  prince  contemplated  the  fan- 
bearer,  then  he  turned  without  a  word  and  strode  out 
of  the  chamber.  In  a  corridor  near  his  own  apart- 
ments he  overtook  the  daughter  of  Har-hat.  Her 
woman  was  with  her. 

The  prince  stepped  before  them. 

The  attendant  crouched  and  fled  somewhere  out  of 
sight.  Masanath  drew  herself  to  the  fullest  of  her 
few  inches  and  waited  for  Rameses  to  speak. 

"Come,  Masanath,"  he  said,  "thou  canst  reach  the 
limit  of  thy  power  to  be  ungracious  and  but  fix  me  the 
firmer  in  my  love  for  thee.  I  am  come  to  tell  thee  that 
I  have  won  thee  from  thy  father." 

"Thou  hast  not  won  me  from  myself,"  she  replied. 

"Nay,  but  I  shall." 

"Thou  dost  overestimate  thyself,"  she  retorted. 
Catching  up  the  fan  and  chaplet  that  her  woman  had 
let  fall  she  made  as  though  to  run  past  him.  But  he 
put  himself  in  her  way,  and  with  shining  eyes,  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

"There,  there !  my  sweet.    I  shall  do  thee  no  hurt," 


338  THE   YOKE 

he  laughed,  quieting  her  struggles  with  an  iron  em- 
brace. 

"Thou  art  hurting  me  beyond  any  cure  now,"  she 
panted  wrathfully. 

"It  is  thy  fault.  Have  I  not  said  I  am  sated  with 
submission?  If  thou  wouidst  unlock  mine  arms,  kiss 
me  and  tell  me  thou  wilt  be  my  queen." 

"Let  me  go,"  she  exclaimed,  choking  with  emotion. 

"Better  for  thee  to  tell  me  'yes'j  thou  wilt  save  thy 
father  a  lie." 

She  looked  at  him  speechless. 

"I  have  said.  To-morrow  he  will  tell  me  that  thou 
hast  promised  to  wed  me — whether  thou  sayest  it  or 
not.  Spare  him  the  falsehood,  Masanath,  and  me  a 
heartache." 

"Wilt  thou  slander  my  father  to  me  ?"  she  demanded. 
"Art  thou  a  knave  as  well  as  a  tyrant  ?" 

"Nay,  I  have  spoken  truly.  Sad  indeed  were  thy 
fate,  my  Masanath,  did  the  gods  mate  thee  with  a 
knave,  having  fathered  thee  with  a  villain.  So  I  am 
come  to  know  of  a  truth  what  is  thy  will." 

"And  I  can  tell  thee  most  truly.  Sooner  would  I 
sit  upon  the  peak  of  a  pyramid  all  my  life  than  upon 
a  throne  with  thee;  sooner  would  I  be  crowned  with 
fire  than  wear  the  asp  of  a  queen  to  thee.  My  father 
may  wed  me  to  thee,  but  I  will  never  love  thee,  nor  say 
it,  nor  pretend  it.  Thou  wilt  not  win  a  wife  if  thou  dost 
take  a  queen  by  violence.    Release  me !" 

"Thou  dost  rivet  mine  arms  about  thee." 

She  stiffened  herself  and  savagely  submitted  to  her 
imprisonment. 

Rameses  laughed  and,  bending  her  head  back,  kissed 


THE    LOVE   OF   RAMESES  339 

her  repeatedly  and  with  much  tenderness.  She  strug- 
gled madly,  but  he  held  her  fast. 

"This  is  but  the  beginning,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"and  I  have  won.  The  end  shall  be  the  same.  I  am  a 
lovable  lover,  am  I  not,  Masanath?  Am  I  not  good 
to  look  upon  ?  Dost  thou  know  a  more  princely  prince, 
and  is  my  father  more  of  a  king  than  I  shall  be? 
Where  do  I  fail  thee  in  thy  little  ideals  ?  Am  I  harsh  ? 
Aye,  but  I  am  a  king.  Am  I  rough-spoken?  Aye,  be- 
cause most  of  the  world  deserve  it.  Thou  hast  never 
felt  the  sting  of  my  tongue,  and  never  shalt  thou  unless 
thou  breakest  my  heart.  I  have  much  to  give  thee; 
not  any  other  monarch  hath  so  much  as  I  to  give  his 
queen.   And  yet  I  ask  only  thy  love  in  return." 

This  was  earnest  wooing,  which  contained  noth- 
ing that  she  might  flout.  So  she  strained  away  from 
him  and  sulked.  Again  he  laughed. 

"Khem  and  Athor  and  Besa  have  combed  my  heart 
and  created  a  being  of  the  desires  they  found  therein ! 
O,  thou  art  mine,  for  the  gods  ordained  it  so."  Again 
he  kissed  her,  holding  her  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  get 
away. 

"There!  carry  thy  hate  of  me  only  to  the  edge  of 
sleep  and  dream  sweetly  of  me." 

He  released  her  and  continued  down  the  hall. 

As  he  turned  out  of  the  smaller  passage  into  the 
larger  corridor,  Ta-user  stepped  forth  from  the  shadow 
of  a  pillar.  The  huge  column  dwarfed  her  into  tini- 
ness.  The  hall  was  but  dimly  lighted  by  a  single  lamp 
and  that  flared  above  her  head. 

Rameses  paused,  for  she  stood  in  his  path. 

"Not  yet  gone  to  thy  rest  ?"  he  asked. 


340  THE   YOKE 

"Rest!"  she  said  scornfully.  "Gone  to  a  night-long 
frenzy  of  relentless  consciousness — weary  tossing, 
wasted  prayers.  I  have  not  rested  since  I  left  the  Hak- 
heb." 

Her  voice  sounded  hollow  in  the  great  empty  hall. 

"So  ?  Thou  art  ready  for  the  care  of  the  physicians 
by  this,  then,  O  my  Sister." 

"I  am  not  thy  sister." 

"What!    Hast  quarreled  with  the  gentle  Seti?" 

"Rameses,  do  not  mock  me.  Seti  does  not  even  stir 
my  pulses.    He  could  not  rob  me  of  my  peace." 

"What  temperate  love!  Mine  makes  my  temples 
crack  and  fills  mine  hours  with  sweet  distress." 

Ta-user  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  raising 
her  hands,  caught  the  folds  of  his  robe  over  his  breast. 

"Rameses,  how  far  wilt  thou  go  in  this  trifling  with 
the  Lady  Masanath?" 

"To  the  marrying  priests."  Without  looking  at  her, 
he  loosed  her  hands,  swung  them  idly  and  let  them 

"She  does  not  love  thee,"  she  said  after  a  little 
silence. 

"Thy  news  is  old.  She  told  me  that  not  a  moment 
since." 

Ta-user  drew  a  freer  breath.  "Thou  wilt  not  wed 
her,  then." 

"That  I  will.  I  have  vowed  it.  Go,  Ta-user,  the 
hour  is  late.  Have  thy  woman  stir  a  potion  for  thee, 
and  sleep.  I  would  to  mine  own  dreams.  They  yield 
me  what  the  day  denies." 

"Stay,  Rameses,"  she  urged,  catching  at  his  robes 
once  more.  "I  would  have  thee  know  something. 
But  am  I  to  tell  thee  in  words  what  I  would  have  thee 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  341 

know?  Surely  I  have  not  let  slip  a  single  chance  to 
show  thee  by  token.  Art  thou  stubborn  or  blind,  that 
thou  dost  not  pity  me  and  spare  me  the  avowal  ?" 

Rameses  looked  down  at  her  upturned  face  without 
a  softening  line  on  his  pallid  countenance. 

"Ta-user,"  he  said  deliberately,  "had  I  been  mum- 
mied and  entombed  I  should  have  known  thine  intent. 
I  marvel  that  thou  couldst  think  I  had  not  seen.  Now, 
hast  thou  not  guessed  my  mind  by  this?  Have  I  not 
been  sufficiently  explicit?  Must  I,  too,  lay  bare  my 
heart  in  words  ?" 

She  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said 
eagerly : 

"Let  not  thy  jealousy  trouble  thee  concerning  Seti 
— he  is  naught  to  me — I  love  him  not — a  boy,  no 
more." 

"Seti!"  he  exclaimed  contemptuously.  "I  have  no 
feeling  against  Seti  save  for  his  unfealty  to  the  little 
child  who  loves  him, — whose  heart  thou  hast  most  de- 
liberately broken." 

"Not  so,"  she  declared  vehemently.  "I  can  not  help 
the  boy's  attachment  to  me.  She  is  a  child,  as  thou 
hast  said,  and  is  easily  comforted.  Not  so  with  ma- 
turer  hearts  like  mine." 

She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  flinging  her 
head  back,  gazed  at  him  with  a  heavy  eye. 

"O,  wilt  thou  put  me  aside  for  Masanath?  What  is 
her  little  dark  beauty  compared  to  mine?  How  can 
she,  who  is  not  even  a  stately  subject,  be  a  stately 
queen?  Wilt  thou  set  the  crown  upon  her  unregal 
head,  invest  her  with  the  royal  robes,  and  yield  thy 
homage  to  a  scowl  and  a  bitter  word?  And  me,  in 
whom  there  is  no  drop  of  unroyal  blood,  in  whom 


342  THE   YOKE 

there  is  all  the  passion  of  the  southlands  and  all 
the  fidelity  of  the  north,  thou  wilt  humiliate.  The  gods 
made  me  for  thee — schooled  me  for  thy  needs  and 
shifted  the  nation's  history  so  that  thou  shouldst  have 
need  of  me.  Look  upon  me,  Rameses.  Why  wilt  thou 
thrust  me  aside  ?" 

She  was  not  dealing  with  Seti,  or  Siptah,  or  any 
other  whom  she  had  bewitched.  There  was  no  spell  in 
the  topaz  eyes  for  Rameses.  If  her  sorcery  affected 
him  at  all,  it  won  no  more  than  a  cursory  interest  in 
her  next  move. 

"The  night  is  too  short  to  recount  my  reasons,"  he 
replied  calmly,  as  he  put  her  arms  away.  "But  I  might 
point  out  the  snarling  cur,  Siptah,  for  one,  and  a  few 
other  comely  lords  of  Egypt." 

"What  hast  thou  done  in  thy  life?"  she  cried.  "I 
am  no  more  wicked  than  thou ;  thou  hast  found  delight 
in  others  beside  whom  I  am  all  innocence." 

"It  may  be.  Who  knows  but  there  is  somewhat  of 
the  vulture-nostril  in  man,  tickled  with  a  vague  taint? 
But,  even  then,  the  sense  is  fleeting,  more  or  less  as 
the  natures  of  men  vary.  A  man  hath  his  better  mo- 
ments, and  how  shall  they  be  entirely  pure  in  the  pres- 
ence of  shame?  Nay,  I  would  not  mate  and  live  for 
ever  with  mine  own  sins." 

"Then  as  thou  dost  permit  her  spotlessness  to  cover 
her  hate,  let  my  love  for  thee  hide  my  sins.  From  the 
first  I  have  loved  thee  unasked.    She  is  all  unwon." 

"Thou  hast  said  it.  She  is  unwon.  But  doth  the 
lion  prey  upon  the  carcass?  Nay.  His  kill  must  be 
fresh  and  slain  by  his  own  might.  Thou  didst  stultify 
thyself  by  thine  instant  acquiescence.     Come,  let  us 


THE   LOVE   OF   RAMESES  343 

make  an  end  to  this.  The  more  said  the  more  thou 
shalt  have  of  which  to  accuse  thyself  hereafter." 

But  she  dropped  before  him,  her  white  robes  cum- 
bering his  path,  her  arms  clasping  his  knees. 

"What  more  have  I  to  do  of  which  to  accuse  my- 
self, O  Rameses  ?  Egypt  knows  why  I  came  to  court. 
Egypt  will  know  why  I  shall  leave  it.  What  have  I  not 
offered  and  what  hast  thou  given  me?  Where  shall  I 
find  that  refuge  from  the  pitying  smile  of  the  nation? 
Spare  my  womanhood — " 

"Ah,  fie  upon  thy  pretense,  Ta-user!  Art  thou  not 
shrewd  enough  to  know  how  well  I  understand  thee? 
Thou  dost  not  love  me.  No  woman  who  loves  pleads 
beyond  the  first  rebuff.  Love  is  full  of  dudgeon.  Thou 
dost  betray  thyself  in  thy  very  insistence.  Thou  beg- 
gest  for  the  crown  I  shall  wear,  and  if  I  were  over- 
thrown to-morrow  thou  wouldst  kneel  likewise  to  mine 
enemy.  Thou  hast  no  womanhood  to  lose  in  Egypt's 
sight.  As  thy  caprice  turned  from  Siptah  to  me,  let  it 
return  thee  to  Siptah  once  again.  And  if  thy  heart  doth 
in  truth  wince  with  jealousy,  think  on  Io." 

He  undid  her  arms,  flung  her  from  him  and  disap- 
peared into  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


FURTHER  DIPLOMACY 


Masanath,  suffocating  with  wrath  and  rebellion  and 
overpowered  with  an  exaggerated  appreciation  of  her 
shame,  tumbled  down  in  the  shadows  of  the  narrow 
passage  and  wrapped  her  mantle  around  her  head. 

When  she  had  wept  till  the  creamy  linen  over  her 
small  face  was  wet  and  her  throat  hurt  under  the 
strain  of  angry  sobs,  and  until  she  was  sure  that 
Rameses  was  gone,  she  picked  herself  up  and  went 
cautiously  to  the  end  of  the  passage  to  reconnoiter. 

The  prince  stood  under  the  single  lamp  in  the  great 
corridor,  between  her  and  the  refuge  of  her  chamber. 
Another  was  close  to  him,  her  hands  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. 

Masanath  retired  into  the  dusk  and  waited.  When 
she  looked  again  the  hands  were  clasped  about  the 
prince's  neck.  Back  into  the  shadows  she  shrank, 
pressing  her  tiny  palms  together  in  a  wild  prayer  for 
Ta-user's  triumph.  After  an  interval  she  looked  again 
in  time  to  see  Rameses  undo  the  arms  about  his  knees 
and  fling  the  princess  from  him.  Cold  with  dismay 
and  shaking  with  her  sudden  descent  from  hope  to  de- 
spair, Masanath  watched  him  disappear  into  the  dark. 

"O  most  ill-timed,  iron  continence !"  she  wailed  un- 
der her  breath.    But  the  change  which  had  come  over 

344 


FURTHER   DIPLOMACY  345 

Ta-user  interested  her  immediately.  Fascinated,  she 
forgot  to  hide  again,  but  the  light  of  the  single  lamp 
did  not  penetrate  to  her  position. 

The  princess  kept  the  posture  of  abandoned  humilia- 
tion, into  which  Rameses  had  flung  her,  until  the  heir's 
footsteps  died  away  up  the  corridor.  Then  she  raised 
herself  and  faced  the  direction  the  prince  had  taken. 
Her  lithe  body  bent  a  little,  her  rigid  arms  were  thrust 
back  of  her,  and  the  hands  were  clenched  hard.  Her 
head  was  forced  forward,  the  long  neck  curved  sinu- 
ously like  a  vulture's.  She  began  to  speak  in  a  whis- 
per that  hissed  as  though  she  breathed  through  her 
words.  Masanath  felt  her  flesh  crawl  and  her  soft  hair 
take  on  life.  Not  all  the  words  of  the  sorceress  were 
intelligible.  At  first  only  her  ejaculations  were  dis- 
tinct. 

"Puny  knave!"  Masanath  heard.  "Well  for  thee  I 
do  not  love  thee,  else  thou  shouldst  sleep  this  night 
in  the  reeking  cave  of  a  paraschite,  with  the  whine  of 
feeding  flies  about  thee  for  dreams.  Well  for  me  that 
I  do  not  love  thee,  for  thine  instant  death  would  rob 
me  of  the  long  revenge  that  I  would  liefer  have! 
Share  thy  crown  with  me!  When  Ta-user  hath  done 
with  thee  thou  shalt  have  no  crown  to  share !  Turned 
from  Siptah  for  thee!  How  thou  wilt  marvel  when 
thou  learnest  that  I  never  turned  from  Siptah  nor 
wooed  thee  with  a  single  glance  but  for  Siptah's  sake. 
Go  on!  Sleep  well!  Have  no  regrets,  for  thy  doom 
was  spoken  long  before  this  night's  haughty  work. 
Rather  do  I  thank  thee  for  thy  scorn.  It  robs  me  of 
qualms  and  adds  instead  a  dark  delight  in  that  which 
I  shall  do!" 

She  turned  toward  Masanath,  walking  swiftly.    The 


346  THE   YOKE 

fan-bearer's  daughter,  stricken  with  panic,  fled,  nor 
paused  until  she  had  passed  far  beyond  the  chamber 
of  Ta-user. 

Cowering  in  a  friendly  niche,  she  waited  until  the 
princess  had  disappeared,  and  then  only  after  a  long 
time  was  she  sufficiently  reassured  to  reach  her  own 
apartments. 

It  was  the  next  day's  noon  before  Masanath  saw  her 
father.  Then  he  came  with  light  step  as  she  sat  in  her 
room.  Approaching  from  behind  her,  he  took  her  face 
between  his  hands,  and  tilting  it  back,  kissed  her. 

"I  give  thee  joy,  Masanath.  Thou  hast  melted  the 
iron  prince." 

She  rose  and  faced  him.  "Did  Rameses  tell  thee  I 
loved  him  ?"  she  demanded,  a  faint  hope  stirring  in  her 
heart. 

"Nay,  far  from  it.  He  told  me,  and  laughed  as  he 
said  it,  that  if  thy  soft  heart  had  any  passion  for  him  it 
was  hate." 

"Said  he  that?  Nay,  now,  my  father,  thou  seest  I 
can  not  marry  him."  There  was  relief  in  her  voice, 
and  she  drew  near  to  the  fan-bearer  and  invited  his 
arms.  He  sat  down  instead,  and  drawing  up  a  stool 
with  his  foot,  bade  her  sit  at  his  feet. 

"Listen!  It  is  a  whim  of  the  Hathors  to  conceal 
one's  own  feelings  from  him  at  times,  that  he  may  ac- 
complish his  own  undoing,  being  blind.  Much  is  at 
stake  on  thy  love  for  the  prince.  Awake,  Masanath ! 
Thou  dost  love  him;  thou  wilt  wed  him — and  it  shall 
go  well  with — all  others  whom  thou  lovest." 

"Wouldst  use  me  for  a  price,  my  father — wouldst 
barter  thy  daughter  for  something?"  she  asked  in  a 
tone  low  with  apprehension. 


FURTHER   DIPLOMACY  347 

"Ah,  what  inelegant  words,"  he  chid.  "Thou  dost 
miscall  my  purpose.  Look,  my  daughter.  Have  I  not 
served  thee  with  hand  and  heart  all  thy  life,  asking 
nothing,  sacrificing  much?  I,  for  one,  have  a  debt 
against  thee,  and  thou  canst  pay  it  in  thy  marriage  to 
Rameses.  Dost  thou  not  love  me  enough  to  make  me 
secure  with  the  prince,  and  so,  secure  in  mine  adviser- 
ship  to  the  king?" 

Masanath  arose  slowly,  as  if  her  movements  kept 
pace  with  the  progress  of  her  realizations.  Thus  far 
she  had  been  a  loving  and  a  believing  child.  The  ge- 
nial knavishness  of  her  father  had  never  appeared  as 
such  to  her.  In  her  sight  he  was  cheery,  great  and 
lovable.  Most  of  all  she  had  flattered  herself  that  he 
loved  her  better  than  life,  and  that  his  nights  were 
sleepless  in  planning  for  her  happiness.  Now,  a  terri- 
fying lapse  in  his  care,  or  a  more  terrifying  display  of 
his  real  character,  appalled  her. 

He  had  placed  his  demand  in  the  most  irresistible 
form,  by  calling  upon  her  dutifulness.  Being  obedient, 
she  felt  constrained  to  submit,  but  being  spirited,  with 
her  heart  already  bestowed,  she  resisted. 

She  floundered  wildly  for  testimony  that  would  jus- 
tify her  rebellion  in  his  sight.  The  memory  of  Ta- 
user's  threats  came  to  her  as  unexpected  and  unbidden 
as  all  inspirations  come. 

"Shall  I  hold  thee  in  thy  position  at  the  expense  of 
Egypt's  peace,  if  not  at  the  expense  of  the  dynasty?" 
she  cried. 

"By  the  heaven-bearing  shoulders  of  Buto!"  he  re- 
sponded laughingly,  "thou  dost  put  a  high  estimate  on 
the  results  of  thine  acts.    Add  thereto,  'if  not  at  the 


348  THE   YOKE 

expense  of  the  Pantheon/  and  thou  shalt  have  all 
heaven  and  earth  at  thy  mercy." 

"Nay,  my  father,  hear  me !  Thou  knowest  Ta- 
user — " 

"O,  aye,  I  know  Ta-user — all  Egypt  knows  her — 
more  particularly,  Rameses." 

"Thou  dost  not  fathom  the  evil  in  her — " 

"Her  fangs  are  drawn,  daughter." 

"Hear  me,  father.  Last  night,  after  Rameses — after 
he — after  he  left  me,  he  met  Ta-user.  And  the  talk 
between  them  was  of  such  nature  that  she  knelt  to  him 
and  he  flung  her  off.  They  were  between  me  and  mine 
apartments,  and  I  could  not  but  know  of  it.  When  he 
left  her  she  made  such  threats  that  it  were  treason  for 
me  to  give  them  voice  again.  What  she  asked  of  him 
I  surmise.  It  could  not  have  been  other  than  a  prayer 
to  him,  to  fulfil  what  was  expected  of  him  concerning 
her.  Thou  knowest  the  breach  between  the  Pharaoh 
and  his  brother,  Amon-meses,  is  but  feebly  bridged  till 
Rameses  shall  heal  the  wound  in  marriage  with  Ta- 
user.  His  failure,  added  to  the  vehement  contempt  he 
displayed  for  her  last  night,  shall  make  that  breach  ten 
times  as  deep  and  ever  receding,  so  there  can  be  no 
healing  of  it." 

Har-hat  flung  his  head  back  and  laughed  heartily. 

"Thou  timid  child!  frightened  with  the  ravings  of 
a  discarded  wanton.  She  and  her  following  of  churls 
can  do  nothing  against  the  Son  of  Ptah.  The  moles 
in  the  necropolis  are  richer  than  they.  None  of  loyal 
Egypt  will  espouse  their  cause,  and  without  money  how 
shall  they  get  them  mercenaries?  Nay,  why  vex  thee 
with  matters  of  state?  All  that  is  required  of  thee  is 
thy  heart  for  Rameses,  no  more." 


FURTHER    DIPLOMACY  349 

"Judge  not  for  Rameses,  I  pray  thee,"  she  insisted, 
coming  near. him.  "Knowing  that  I  love  him  not,  per- 
chance he  might  be  gentler  with  Ta-user  did  he  see  his 
peril." 

Again  Har-hat  laughed. 

"I  am  not  blind,  O  little  reluctant,"  he  said.  "I 
know  the  secret  spring  of  thy  concern  for  Egypt — for 
Ta-user — for  Rameses.  I  have  not  told  thee  all  the 
stake  upon  thy  love  for  the  prince.  Does  it  not  seem 
that  since  a  maiden  will  not  love  one  winsome  man 
there  must  be  another  already  installed  in  her  heart?" 

She  drew  back,  changing  color. 

"How  little  of  the  court-lady  thou  art,  Masanath," 
he  broke  off,  looking  at  her  face.  "Thy  sensations  are 
too  near  the  surface.  Thou  must  teach  thy  face  to 
dissemble.  It  was  this  very  eloquence  of  countenance 
that  betrayed  thy  foolish  preferences.  Mind  thee,  I 
know  it  to  be  but  a  maiden  fancy  which,  discouraged, 
dies.  But  have  a  care  lest  it  bring  disaster  upon  him 
whom  thou  hast  put  in  jeopardy  of  the  fierce  power  of 
the  prince." 

Masanath's  eyes  widened  with  terror.  The  fan- 
bearer  continued :  "I  have  but  to  mention  the  name  of 
Hotep— " 

She  clutched  at  her  heart. 

"Ah?"  he  observed  with  mild  interrogation  in  the 
word.  "How  foolish  thy  caprice!  Hotep  does  not 
thank  thee.  His  marble  spirit  hath  set  its  loves  upon 
ink-pots  and  papyri  and  such  pulseless  things.  How 
I  should  reproach  myself  if  I  must  undo  him — " 

"Nay,  bring  no  disaster  on  the  head  of  the  noble 
Hotep,"  she  begged.  "He — I — there  is  naught  be- 
tween us." 


350  THE  YOKE 

"It  is  even  as  I  had  thought.  I  shall  tell  Rameses 
and  send  him  to  thee,"  he  said,  moving  away. 

With  a  bound  she  was  between  him  and  the  door. 

"If  he  ask  tell  him  there  is  naught  between  me  and 
the  royal  scribe,  but  send  him  not  hither,"  she  com- 
manded with  vehemence. 

"If  thou  art  rebellious,  Masanath,  I  must  chasten 
thee." 

"Threaten  me  not!"  she  cried,  thoroughly  aroused, 
"or  by  the  Mother  of  Heaven,  I  shall  demand  audience 
with  Meneptah  and  tell  him  what  thou  wouldst  do." 

"Bluster !"  he  answered  with  an  irritating  laugh. 

"Hast  won  the  sanction  of  the  Pharaoh  for  this 
betrothal?"  she  demanded. 

"Meneptah's  will  is  clay  in  my  hands,"  he  replied 
contemptuously. 

"Vex  me  further  and  I  shall  tell  him  that !" 

He  caught  her  arm,  and  though  the  fierce  grasp 
pinched  her,  she  knew  by  that  she  had  gained  a  point. 

"And  further,"  she  continued,  gathering  courage  at 
each  word,  "I  shall  ask  him  why  thou  shouldst  be  so 
anxious  to  keep  the  breach  between  him  and  his 
brother  and  defeat  his  aims  at  peace." 

His  face  blazed  and  he  shook  her,  but  she  went  on 
in  wild  triumph.  "I  have  a  confederate  in  Rameses. 
He  loves  thee  not.  And  I  have  but  to  hint  and  ruin 
thee  beyond  the  restoring  power  of  the  marriages  of  a 
thousand  daughters!" 

Har-hat's  forte  had  been  polished  insult,  but  when 
the  evil  in  him  would  have  expressed  itself  in  its  own 
brutal  manner  he  was  helpless. 

"Hotep — Hotep — "  he  snarled. 

The  name  was  potent.   Again  she  recoiled. 


FURTHER   DIPLOMACY  351 

"I  shall  yield  him  up  to  Rameses,"  he  went  on. 

"And  in  that  very  hour  thou  dost,  in  that  same  hour 
will  I  charge  thee  with  treason  before  the  throne  of 
Meneptah !"  she  returned  recklessly. 

The  pair  gazed  at  each  other,  breathless  with  tem- 
per. 

"Wilt  thou  wed  Rameses?"  he  demanded. 

"So  thou  wilt  avoid  the  name  of  Hotep  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Rameses  and  wilt  shield  him  as  if  his  safety 
were  to  bring  thee  gain,"  she  replied,  thrusting  skil- 
fully, "I  will  wed  the  prince  in  one  year.  Further- 
more, in  that  time  I  shall  be  free  to  go  where  and  when 
I  please,  to  dwell  where  I  please  and  to  be  vexed  with 
the  sight  of  thee  or  that  royal  monster  no  more  than  is 
my  desire.    Say,  wilt  thou  accept  ?" 

He  had  twitted  her  about  her  frank  face.  He  could 
not  tell  now  but  that  she  was  fearless  and  had  meas- 
ured her  strength.  He  did  not  know  that  within  she 
trembled  and  felt  that  her  threats  were  empty.  But, 
being  guilty  in  his  soul,  and  facing  righteousness,  Har- 
hat  succumbed. 

"Have  it  thy  way,  then,  vixen,"  he  exclaimed ;  "but 
remember,  I  hold  a  heavy  hand  above  thy  head  and 
Hotep's !" 

He  strode  out  of  her  presence,  and  when  she  was 
sure  he  was  gone,  she  fell  on  her  face  and  wept  miser- 
ably. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  HEIR  INTERVENES 

At  Tanis,  the  next  day  after  the  arrival  of  Menep- 
tah,  there  came  a  messenger  from  Thebes  to  Hotep, 
and  the  royal  scribe  retired  to  his  apartments  to  read 
the  letter. 

And  after  he  had  read  he  was  glad  that  he  had 
secluded  himself,  for  his  demonstrations  of  relief  at 
the  news  the  message  imparted  were  most  extravagant 
and  unrestrained.  For  the  moment  he  permitted  no 
reminder  of  Kenkenes'  present  plight  to  subdue  his 
joy  in  the  realization  that  his  friend  was  not  dead. 

Having  exulted,  he  read  the  letter  again,  and  then 
he  summoned  all  his  shrewdness  to  his  aid. 

He  would  wait  till  the  confusion  of  the  court's  set- 
tling itself  had  subsided  before  he  presented  the  pe- 
tition to  Meneptah.  Furthermore,  he  would  relieve 
his  underlings  and  write  the  king's  communications 
with  his  own  hand  till  he  knew  that  the  reply  to  Ken- 
kenes had  been  sent.  Har-hat  should  be  watched 
vigilantly. 

But  order  and  routine  were  not  restored  in  the  pal- 
ace of  Meneptah.  The  unrest  that  precedes  a  national 
crisis  had  developed  into  irritability  and  pugnacity. 

Tanis  was  within  hearing  of  the  plaints  of  Israel, 
and  the  atmosphere  quivered  with  omen  and  portent. 

352 


THE    HEIR   INTERVENES  353 

Moses  appeared  in  this  place  and  that,  each  time 
nearer  the  temporary  capital,  and  wherever  he  came 
he  left  rejoicing-  or  shuddering  behind  him. 

Meanwhile  the  fan-bearer  laughed  his  way  into  the 
throne.  Meneptah's  weakness  for  him  grew  into  stub- 
born worship.  The  old  and  trusted  ministers  of  the 
monarch  took  offense  and  sealed  their  lips;  the  new 
held  their  peace  for  trepidation.  The  queen,  hereto- 
fore meek  and  self-effacing,  laid  aside  her  spindle  one 
day  and,  meeting  her  lord  at  the  door  of  the  council 
chamber,  protested  in  the  name  of  his  dynasty  and  his 
realm. 

But  the  king  was  beyond  help,  and  the  queen,  angry 
and  hurt,  bade  him  keep  Har-hat  out  of  her  sight, 
and  returned  to  her  women.  Thereafter  even  Menep- 
tah  saw  her  rarely. 

The  rise  of  the  fan-bearer  was  achieved  in  an  in- 
credibly short  time.  It  proved  conclusively  that  until 
this  period  an  influence  against  Har-hat  had  been  at 
work  upon  Meneptah,  and  seeing  that  Rameses  had 
subsided,  having  cause  to  propitiate  the  father  of  the 
woman  he  would  wed,  the  courtiers  began  to  blame 
the  prince  and  talk  of  him  to  one  another. 

He  seemed  lost  in  a  dream.  In  the  council  chamber 
he  lounged  in  his  chair  with  his  eyes  upon  nothing  and 
apparently  hearing  nothing.  But  the  slow  shifting  of 
the  spark  in  his  sleepy  eyes  indicated  to  those  who  ob- 
served closely  that  he  heard  but  kept  his  own  counsel. 
If  Meneptah  spoke  to  him  he  but  seconded  Har-hat's 
suggestions.  But  once  again  the  observant  ones  noted 
that  the  fan-bearer  did  not  advise  at  wide  variance 
with  any  of  the  prince's  known  ideas.  Thus  far  the 
most  caviling  could  not  see  that  Har-hat's  favoritism 


354  THE  YOKE 

had  led  to  any  misrule,  but  the  field  of  possibilities 
opened  by  his  complete  dominance  over  the  Pharaoh 
was  crowded  with  disaster,  individual  and  national. 

The  betrothal  of  Rameses  to  Har-hat's  daughter 
gave  further  material  for  contention.  It  seemed  to  in- 
dicate that  the  fan-bearer  had  builded  for  himself  for 
two  reigns. 

Hotep's  situation  was  most  poignantly  unhappy.  He 
was  fixed  under  the  same  roof  with  the  man  that  had 
taken  his  love  by  piracy;  he  must  greet  him  affably 
and  reverently  every  day;  he  must  live  in  daily  con- 
templation of  the  time  when  he  must  meet  Masanath 
also  as  his  sovereign — the  wife  of  the  prince,  whom  he 
must  serve  till  death.  Hardest  of  all,  he  must  wear  a 
serene  countenance  and  cover  his  sorrow  most  surely, 
for  his  own  sake  and  for  Masanath's. 

Ta-user  still  remained  at  court.  Seti,  in  a  fume  of 
boyish  indignation  at  Rameses,  attended  her  like  a 
shadow.  Among  the  courtiers  there  were  others  who 
were  not  alive  to  the  true  nature  of  the  princess  and 
who  joined  Seti  in  his  resentment  against  the  heir. 

Amon-meses  and  Siptah,  snarling  and  malevolent, 
had  left  the  court  abruptly  on  the  morning  of  its  de- 
parture for  Tanis.  The  Hak-heb  received  them  once 
again,  and  an  ominous  calm  settled  over  that  little 
pocket  of  fertility  in  the  desert — Nehapehu. 

Thus  the  court  was  torn  with  factions ;  old  internal 
dissensions  made  themselves  evident  again,  but  the 
vast  murmur  in  Goshen  was  heard  above  the  strife. 

All  this  had  come  to  pass  in  the  short  space  of 
a  month.  When  half  of  that  time  had  elapsed,  Hotep, 
fearing  to  delay  the  petition  of  Kenkenes  longer,  lest 
conditions  should  become  worse  rather  than  better,  met 


THE   HEIR   INTERVENES  355 

the  Pharaoh  in  the  hall  one  day  and  gave  him  the 
writing.  Earnestly  the  scribe  impressed  Meneptah 
with  the  importance  of  the  petition  and  begged  him 
to  acquaint  himself  in  an  hour  of  solitude  with  its 
contents  and  the  identity  of  the  supplicant. 

Meneptah  promised  and  continued  to  his  apart- 
ments. There  Har-hat  came  in  a  few  moments,  and 
Meneptah,  after  his  custom,  gave  over  to  him  the  state 
communications  of  the  day,  and  after  some  little  hesita- 
tion, tossed  the  petition  of  Kenkenes  among  them. 

"Thou  canst  attend  to  this  matter  as  well,  good 
Har-hat.  Why  should  I  take  up  the  private  concerns 
of  my  subjects  when  I  am  already  burdened  with  heavy 
cares?  But  do  thou  look  to  this  petition  faithfully. 
It  may  be  important,  and  I  know  not  from  whom  it  is. 
I  promised  Hotep  it  should  be  given  honest  attention." 

For  seven  days  thereafter  every  letter  sent  by  the 
king  was  written  by  Hotep.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  met  Meneptah  again,  and  bending  low  before  him, 
asked  pardon  for  his  insistence,  and  begged  to  know 
what  disposition  the  Son  of  Ptah  had  made  of  the 
petition  of  his  friend.  He  was  irritably  informed  that 
the  matter  had  been  given  over  to  the  fan-bearer  for 
attention,  since  the  Pharaoh  had  been  too  oppressed 
with  heavier  matters  to  read  the  letter. 

The  state  of  the  scribe's  mind,  after  receiving  the  in- 
formation, was  indescribable. 

He  controlled  himself  before  Meneptah,  but  he  suf- 
fered no  curb  upon  his  feelings  when  he  had  returned 
to  his  own  apartments.  After  a  long  time  he  succeeded 
in  choking  his  anger,  disgust  and  grief,  realizing  that 
each  moment  must  be  turned  to  account  rather  than 
wasted  in  railing. 


356  THE   YOKE 

He  viewed  the  situation  with  enforced  calm. 

Har-hat  was  in  full  possession  of  the  facts.  He  had 
the  signet  and  was  absolute  master  of  Meneptah.  The 
Hathors  had  surrendered  Kenkenes  wholly  into  the 
hands  of  his  enemy.  Furthermore,  the  fate  of  the 
Israelite  seemed  to  be  sealed.  At  the  thought  Hotep 
gnashed  his  teeth. 

In  his  sympathy  for  his  friend's  strait,  the  scribe 
gave  over  his  objections  to  Rachel.  Kenkenes  had 
suffered  for  her,  and,  if  he  would,  he  should  have 
her. 

Between  the  king  and  persuasion  was  Har-hat,  vi- 
tally interested  in  the  defeat  of  any  movement  toward 
the  aid  of  Kenkenes.  The  one  hope  for  the  sculptor 
was  the  winning  over  of  the  Pharaoh,  and  only  one 
could  do  it.  And  that  was  Rameses,  who  was  be- 
trothed to  the  love  of  Hotep,  and  against  her  will. 

Nothing  could  have  appeared  more  distasteful  to 
the  scribe  than  the  necessity  of  prayer  to  the  man  for 
whom  he  cherished  a  hate  that  threatened  to  make  a 
cinder  of  his  vitals.  But  the  more  he  rebelled  the  more 
his  conscience  urged  him. 

He  flung  himself  on  his  couch  and  writhed ;  he 
reviled  the  Hathors,  abused  Kenkenes  for  the  folly  of 
sacrilege  which  had  brought  on  him  such  misfor- 
tune; he  execrated  Meneptah,  anathematized  Har-hat 
and  called  down  the  fiercest  maledictions  on  the 
head  of  Rameses.  Having  relieved  himself,  he  arose 
and,  summoning  his  servant,  had  his  disordered  hair 
dressed,  fresh  robes  brought  for  him,  and  a  glass  of 
wine  for  refreshment.  On  the  way  to  the  palace-top 
he  met  Ta-user,  walking  slowly  away  from  the  stair- 
case.   Rameses,  solitary  and  luxurious,  was  stretched 


THE    HEIR   INTERVENES  357 

upon  a  cushioned  divan  in  the  shadow  of  a  canopy 
over  the  hypostyle. 

"The  gods  keep  thee,  Son  of  the  Sun,"  Hotep  said. 

"So  it  is  thou,  Hotep.  Nay,  but  I  am  glad  to  see 
thee.  Methought  Ta-user  meant  to  visit  me  just  now. 
Is  there  a  taboret  near?" 

"Aye,  but  I  shall  not  sit,  my  Prince." 

"Go  to !  It  makes  me  weary  to  see  thee  stand.  Sit, 
I  tell  thee!" 

Hotep  drew  up  the  taboret  and  sat. 

"I  come  to  thee  with  news  and  a  petition,"  he  began. 
"It  is  more  fitting  that  I  should  kneel." 

"Perchance.  But  exertion  offends  mine  eyes  in  such 
delicious  hours  as  these,  and  I  will  forego  the  homage 
for  the  sake  of  mine  own  sinews.  Out  with  thy  tid- 
ings." 

"Thou  dost  remember  thy  friend  and  mine,  that  gen- 
tle genius,  Kenkenes." 

"I  am  not  like  to  forget  him  so  long  as  a  bird  sings 
or  the  Nile  ripples  make  music.  Osiris  pillow  him  most 
softly." 

"He  is  not  dead,  my  Prince." 

"Nay!"  Rameses  cried,  sitting  up.  "The  knave 
should  be  bastinadoed  for  the  tears  he  wrung  from 
us!" 

"Thou  wouldst  deny  my  petition.  I  am  come  to 
implore  thee  to  intercede  for  him." 

Rameses  bade  him  proceed. 

"Thou  art  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  Kenkenes, 
O  Prince.  He  is  a  visionary — an  idealist,  and  so  firmly 
rooted  are  his  beliefs  that  they  are  to  his  life  as  natural 
as  the  color  of  his  eyes.  He  is  a  beauty-worshiper. 
Athor  possesses  him  utterly,  and  her  loveliness  blinds 


358  THE   YOKE 

him  to  all  other  things,  particularly  to  his  own  welfare 
and  safety. 

"In  the  beginning  he  fell  in  love,  and  a  soul  like  his 
in  love  is  most  unreasoning,  immoderate  and  terribly 
faithful.  The  maiden  is  beautiful — I  saw  her — most 
divinely  beautiful.  She  is  wise,  for  I  saw  that  also. 
She  is  good,  for  I  felt  it,  unreasoning,  and  when  a 
man  hath  a  woman  intuition,  a  god  hath  spoken  the 
truth  to  his  heart.    But  she  is  a  slave — an  Israelite." 

"An  Israelite !" 

Hotep  bowed  his  head. 

"By  the  gods  of  my  fathers,  I  ought  not  to  marvel ! 
Nay,  now,  is  that  not  like  the  boy  ?  An  Israelite !  And 
half  the  noble  maids  of  Memphis  mad  for  him!" 

"He  is  not  for  thee  and  me  to  judge,  O  Rameses," 
Hotep  interrupted.  "The  gods  blew  another  breath  in 
him  than  animates  our  souls.  For  thee  and  me  such 
conduct  would  be  the  fancies  of  madmen;  for  Ken- 
kenes  it  is  but  living  up  to  the  alien  spirit  with  which 
the  gods  endowed  him.  It  might  be  torture  for  him  to 
wed  according  to  our  lights." 

"Perchance  thou  art  right.    Go  on." 

"It  seems  that  Har-hat  looked  upon  the  girl,  and 
taken  by  her  beauty,  asked  her  at  the  Pharaoh's  hands 
for  his  harem." 

"Ah,  the — !    Why  does  he  not  marry  honorably  ?" 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  divine,"  Hotep  went  on  calmly. 
"The  fan-bearer  sent  his  men  to  take  her,  but  she  fled 
from  them  to  Kenkenes,  and  he  protected  her — hid  her 
away — where,  none  but  Kenkenes  and  the  maiden 
know.  Har-hat  is  most  desirous  of  owning  her,  but 
Kenkenes  keeps  his  counsel.    Therefore,  Har-hat  over- 


THE   HEIR   INTERVENES  359 

took  him  in  Tape,  where  he  went  to  get  a  signet  be- 
longing to  his  father,  and  imprisoned  him  till  what 
time  he  should  divulge  the  hiding-place  of  the  Israel- 
ite." 

"Never  was  there  a  true  villain  till  Har-hat  was 
born!  What  poor  feeble  shadows  have  trodden  the 
world  for  knaves  before  the  fan-bearer  came.  Go  on. 
Hath  he  put  him  to  torture  yet  ?" 

"Aye,  from  the  beginning,  though  not  by  the  basti- 
nado. He  rends  him  with  suspense  and  all  the  doubts 
and  fears  for  his  love  that  can  haunt  him  in  his  cell. 
But  I  have  more  to  tell.  There  was  a  signet,  an  all- 
potent  signet,  which  belonged  to  the  noble  Mentu — " 

"Aye,  I  remember,"  Rameses  broke  in.  "My  grand- 
sire  gave  it  to  the  murket  in  recognition  of  his  great 
work,  Ipsambul.  It  commands  royal  favor  in  the 
name  of  Osiris.  That  should  help  the  dreamer  out  of 
his  difficulty." 

"Aye,  it  should,  my  Prince,  but  it  did  not.  Kenkenes 
sent  it  to  the  Pharaoh,  with  a  petition  for  his  own  free- 
dom, but  the  cares  of  state  were  so  pressing  that  the 
Son  of  Ptah  gave  the  letter,  unopened,  to  Har-hat  for 
attention." 

Rameses  laughed  harshly. 

"Kenkenes  would  better  content  himself.  The  Ha- 
thors  are  against  him,"  he  cried.  "Was  there  ever  such 
consummate  misfortune?  What  more?" 

"Is  it  not  enough,  O  Rameses?"  Hotep  answered 
sternly.  "He  hath  suffered  sufficiently.  Now  is  it  time 
for  them,  who  profess  to  love  him,  to  bestir  themselves 
in  his  behalf.  Thou  knowest  how  near  the  fan-bearer 
is  to  the  Pharaoh.    Persuasion  can  not  reach  the  king 


360  THE   YOKE 

that  worketh  against  Har-hat.  Thou  alone  art  as  po- 
tent with  the  Son  of  Ptah.  Wilt  thou  not  prove  thy 
love  for  Kenkenes  and  aid  him?" 

Rameses  did  not  answer  immediately.  Thoughtfully 
he  leaned  his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  stroked  his  fore- 
head with  his  hand.    His  black  brows  knitted  finally. 

"My  hands  are  tied,  Hotep,"  he  began  bluntly.  "I 
permit  the  sway  of  this  knave  over  my  father  because 
I  am  constrained.  Till  he  begins  to  achieve  confusion 
or  bring  about  bad  government  I  must  let  him  alone. 
There  is  no  love  between  us.  We  have  no  quarrel,  but 
I  despise  him  for  that  very  spirit  in  him  which  makes 
him  do  such  things  as  thou  hast  even  told  me.  If  his 
offense  had  been  against  Egypt  or  the  king  or  myself, 
I  could  balk  him.  But  this  is  a  matter  of  personal  in- 
terest to  him,  which  would  be  open  and  flagrant  inter- 
ference— " 

Hotep  broke  in  earnestly. 

"Surely  so  small  a  matter  of  courtesy — if  such  it 
may  be  called — should  not  stand  between  thee  and  this 
most  pressing  need." 

"Aye,  thou  hast  said — if  it  were  only  a  small  matter 
of  courtesy.  But  the  breach  of  that  same  small  cour- 
tesy entails  great  disaster  for  me.  Thou  knowest,  O 
my  Hotep,  that  I  am  betrothed  to  the  daughter  of  Har- 
hat." 

With  great  effort  Hotep  kept  a  placid  face. 

"The  Lady  Masanath  would  abet  him  who  would 
aid  Kenkenes,"  he  said. 

"Even  so.  But  hear  me,  I  pray  thee,  Hotep.  This 
most  rapacious  miscreant  would  hold  his  favor  with 
the  king.  He  knew  I  loved  Masanath,  and  he  held 
her  out  of  my  reach  till  I  should  consent  to  coun- 


THE   HEIR   INTERVENES  361 

tenance  his  advisership  to  my  father.  I  consented — 
and  should  I  lapse,  I  lose  Masanath." 

Hotep  was  on  his  feet  by  this- time,  ,his  face  turned 
away.  Rameses  could  not  guess  what  a  tempest  raged 
in  his  heart. 

"But  be  thou  assured,"  the  prince  continued  grimly, 
"that  only  so  long  as  Masanath  is  not  yet  mine,  "shall 
I  endure  him.  After  that  he  shall  fall  as  never  knave 
fell  or  so  deserved  to  fall  before.  Aye, — but  stay, 
Hotep.  I  have  not  done.  I  have  some  small  grain  of 
hope  for  this  unfortunate  friend  of  ours.  The  mar- 
riage hath  been  delayed.  I  shall  press  my  suit,  and 
wed  Masanath  sooner,  if  she  will,  and  Kenkenes  need 
not  decay  in  prison—" 

Hotep  did  not  stay  longer.  He  bowed  and  departed 
without  a  word. 

"Out  upon  the  man,  I  offered  all  I  could,"  Rameses 
muttered,  but  immediately  he  arose  and  hurried  to  the 
well  of  the  stairway. 

"Hotep!"  he  called.  The  scribe,  half-way  down, 
turned  and  looked  up. 

"Return  to  me  in  an  hour.  Give  me  time  to  ponder 
and  I  may  more  profitably  help  thee,"  the  prince  com- 
manded.   Hotep  bowed  and  went  on. 

The  hour  was  barely  long  enough  for  the  smarting 
soul  of  the  scribe  to  soothe  itself.  Deep,  indeed,  his 
love  for  Kenkenes  that  he  returned  at  all.  Masanath's 
name,  spoken  so  familiarly,  so  boastingly,  by  the 
prince  was  fresh  outrage  to  his  already  affronted  heart. 
It  mattered  not  that  Rameses  did  not  know.  His  talk 
of  marriage  with  Masanath  was  exultation,  neverthe- 
less. Once  again,  Hotep  flung  himself  on  his  couch 
and  wrestled  with  his  spirit. 


362  THE   YOKE 

At  the  end  of  the  hour,  he  went  once  again  to  Ra- 
meses.  He  was  calm  and  composed,  but  he  made  no 
apology  for  his  abrupt  departure,  when  last  he  was 
there.  Perhaps,  however,  he  gained  in  the  respect  of 
Rameses  by  that  lapse.  The  blunt  prince  was  more 
patient  with  the  sincere  than  with  the  diplomatic. 

"Thou  hast  said,"  the  prince  began  immediately, 
"that  Har-hat  hath  imprisoned  Kenkenes  till  what  time 
he  shall  divulge  the  hiding-place  of  the  Israelite  ?" 

Hotep  bowed. 

"The  fan-bearer  charges  him  with  slave-stealing?" 

"And  sacrilege,"  the  scribe  added.  The  prince 
opened  his  eyes.  "Aye,  Kenkenes  carried  his  beauty- 
love  into  blasphemy.  He  executed  a  statue  of  Athor 
in  defiance  of  the  sculptor's  ritual.  For  this  also,  Har- 
hat  holds  a  heavy  hand  over  him." 

"A  murrain  on  the  lawless  dreamer !"  Rameses  mut- 
tered.   "Is  there  anything  more?" 

Hotep  shook  his  head. 

"He  deserves  his  ill-luck.  Mark  me,  now.  He  will 
not  go  mad  with  a  year's  imprisonment,  and  he  will 
profit  by  it.  Furthermore,  he  can  not  be  persuaded 
into  betraying  the  Israelite,  if  he  knows  how  long  and 
how  much  he  will  have  to  endure.  Once  sentenced, 
Har-hat  can  add  nothing  more  thereto.  Has  he  con- 
fessed?" 

"To  me,  he  did.  I  know  not  what  he  said  to  the 
Pharaoh.  But  the  Goddess  Ma  broodeth  on  the  lips 
of  Kenkenes." 

Rameses  nodded,  and  clapped  his  hands.  The  at- 
tendant that  appeared  he  ordered  to  bring  the  scribe's 
writing-case  and  implements.     When  the  servant  re- 


THE   HEIR   INTERVENES  363 

turned,  Hotep,  at  a  sign  from  Rameses,  prepared  to 
write. 

"Write  thus  to  the  jailer  at  Tape : 

"  'By  order  of  the  crown  prince,  Rameses,  the  pris- 
oner, Kenkenes,  held  for  slave-stealing  and  sacrilege, 
is  sentenced  to  imprisonment  for  one  year — '  " 

Hotep  lifted  his  pen,  and  looked  his  rebellion. 

"Write!"  the  prince  exclaimed.  "I  do  him  a  kind- 
ness, with  a  lesson  added.  Were  it  in  my  power  to  free 
him  I  would  not — till  he  had  learned  that  the  law  is 
inexorable  and  the  power  of  its  ministers  supreme. 
Go  on — 'at  such  labor  as  the  prisoner  may  elect.  No 
further  punishment  may  be  added  thereto.'  Affix  my 
seal  and  send  this  without  fail.  Thou  canst  write 
whatever  thou  wilt  to  Kenkenes.  For  the  Israelite, 
I  shall  not  concern  myself.  The  nearer  friends  to 
Kenkenes  may  look  to  her.  Mine  shall  be  the  care 
only  to  see  that  they  are  not  harassed  by  the  fan- 
bearer.  In  this,  I  fulfil  the  law.  Let  Har-hat  help 
himself." 

He  dropped  back  on  his  divan  and  Hotep  slowly 
collected  his  writing  materials  and  made  ready  to  de- 
part.   Having  finished,  he  lingered  a  little. 

"A  word  further,  O  Rameses.  Kenkenes  is  proud. 
He  would  liefer  die  than  suffer  the  humiliation  of 
public  shame.  Memphis  believes  him  dead.  None 
but  thyself,  Har-hat,  the  noble  Mentu  and  I  know  of 
his  plight.  Har-hat  hath  no  call  to  tell  it.  Mentu 
will  not;  I  shall  not.  Wilt  thou  keep  his  secret  also, 
my  Prince?" 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  humiliate  him  publicly.  Let 
him  have  a  care,  hereafter,  that  he  does  not  humiliate 
himself." 


364  THE   YOKE 

"I  thank  thee,  O  Rameses." 
Saluting  the  prince,  Hotep  departed. 
That  night  he  wrote  to  Kenkenes  and  to  Mentu, 
and  the  two  messengers  departed  ere  midnight. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


THE    IDOLS    CRUMBLE 


Meanwhile  Kenkenes  seldom  saw  a  human  face. 
Food  and  water  in  red  clay  vessels,  bearing  the  seal  of 
Thebes,  were  set  inside  his  door  by  disembodied  hands. 
At  intervals  he  saw  the  keeper,  always  attended  by 
the  inevitable  scribe,  but  the  visit  was  a  matter  of 
inspection  and  rarely  was  the  prisoner  addressed. 

Though  he  grew  to  expect  these  visits,  each  time  the 
bar  rattled  down  he  trembled  with  the  hope  that  the 
jailer  brought  him  freedom.  Each  successive  disap- 
pointment was  as  acute  as  the  last,  made  more  poi- 
gnant by  the  torturing  certainty  that  his  hopes  were 
vain.  The  effect  of  one  was  not  at  all  counteracted 
by  the  other. 

Some  time  after  dawn  the  sun  thrust  a  golden  bar, 
full  of  motes,  across  the  door,  a  foot  above  his  head. 
In  a  space  the  beam  was  withdrawn.  The*  heat  and 
dust  of  the  midday  came,  instead.  Gnats  wove  their 
mazes  in  the  narrow  casement  that  opened  on  the  out- 
side world,  and  now  and  then  the  twitter  of  birds 
sounded  very  close  to  it.  Kenkenes  knew  how  they 
flashed  as  they  flew  in  the  sun.  They  were  prodigal 
of  freedom.  At  nightfall,  if  he  stood  at  full  height 
against  the  door,  he  could  see  a  thread  of  cooling  sky 
with  a  single  star  in  its  center. 

365 


366  THE   YOKE 

This  was  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world. 

Hour  after  hour  he  paced  the  narrow  length  of  the 
cell,  till  the  circumscribed  round  made  him  dizzy.  If 
he  flung  himself  on  his  straw  pallet,  he  did  not  rest. 
The  mind  has  no  charity  for  the  body.  If  there  is  to 
be  no  mental  repose  it  is  vain  to  hope  for  physical. 
When  the  inactivity  of  his  uneasy  pallet  became  intol- 
erable, he  resumed  his  pace. 

He  expected  the  return  of  his  messenger  in  twenty 
days  after  the  man's  departure.  At  the  expiration  of 
that  time  his  suspense  and  apprehension  became  more 
and  more  desperate  at  the  passing  of  each  new  day. 
In  rapid  succession  he  accepted  and  rejected  the 
thought  that  the  messenger  had  played  him  false,  had 
been  assassinated  and  robbed ;  that  Meneptah  had  re- 
called the  signet,  or  had  added  the  penalty  of  suspense 
to  his  indorsement  of  Har-hat's  fiat  of  imprisonment. 

When  the  climax  of  his  sensations  was  reached,  his 
self-sufficiency  collapsed  and  he  entered  into  ceaseless 
supplication  of  the  gods.  He  vowed  costly  sacrifices 
to  them,  adding  promises  of  self-abnegation  which  be- 
came more  comprehensive  as  his  distress  increased. 
At  the  end  of  a  month  he  had  consecrated  everything 
at  his  command.  Then  he  subsided  into  a  numb  en- 
durance till  what  time  his  prayers  should  be  answered. 

Eight  days  later,  about  mid-afternoon,  while  he  lay 
on  his  pallet,  the  door  was  flung  open  and  his  messen- 
ger stood  without.  With  a  cry,  Kenkenes  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  wrenched  the  scroll  from  the  man's  hand. 
With  unsteady  fingers  he  ripped  off  the  linen  cover 
and  read. 

The  letter  was  from  Hotep,  conveying  such  informa- 
tion regarding  his  imprisonment  as  we  already  know. 


THE   IDOLS    CRUMBLE  367 

It  was  couched  in  the  gentlest  terms,  and  contained 
that  essence  of  hope  which  loving  spirits  can  extract 
from  the  most  desperate  situation,  for  another's  sake. 
But  for  all  the  kindly  intent  of  the  scribe,  his  news 
was  none  the  less  unhappy.  The  dreaded  had  come 
to  pass,  and  the  war  between  hope  and  fear  was  at  an 
end.  Kenkenes  read  the  missive  calmly,  and  paid  the 
messenger  according  to  his  promise.  The  jailer,  who 
had  come  with  the  man,  read  the  sentence  and  bade 
the  prisoner  make  his  choice  of  labor. 

"Anything,  so  it  will  but  give  me  a  glimpse  of  the 
horizon,"  he  said. 

"Thou  wilt  pay  dearly  for  thy  sky,"  the  keeper  cau- 
tioned him.    "The  softest  labor  is  within  doors." 

"Give  me  my  wish  according  to  the  command  of  the 
prince." 

The  jailer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As  thou  wilt. 
Make  Heady  to  follow  the  canal-workers,  to-morrow." 

When  the  door  fell  shut  again,  Kenkenes  returned 
to  his  pallet  and  re-read  the  scroll. 

A  year's  imprisonment!  The  sentence  defined  was 
the  sum  of  daily  shame,  sorrow,  homesickness  and 
misanthropy.  Shame  in  the  proud  man  admits  of  no 
degrees  of  intensity.  If  it  exist  at  all,  it  is  superlative. 
To  this  was  added  the  loss  of  Rachel.  How  little  it 
would  take  to  satisfy  him,  now  that  she  was  wholly 
denied  to  his  eyes !  Only  to  look  down  on  her  again, 
unseen,  from  his  aery  in  the  rocks  over  the  valley! 

Hotep  had  offered  him  hope,  based  on  circumstan- 
tial evidence  and  fact.  Har-hat  could  not  add  to  his 
sentence.  That  was  the  only  indisputable  cheer  he 
could  give.  But  would  Rameses  stay  the  chief  ad- 
viser's hand,  seeing  that  the  winning  of   Masanath 


368  THE   YOKE 

depended  on  the  prince's  neutrality,  as  Hotep  had  ex- 
plained? If-  Rachel  fled  to  Mentu,  as  Kenkenes  had 
bidden  her,  could  the  murket  protect  her,  even  at  his 
own  peril  ?  Might  not  the  heavy  hand  of  the  powerful 
favorite  fall  also  on  the  head  of  the  king's  architect? 
Wherein  was  the  murket  more  immune  than  his  son? 
Rachel's  destruction  seemed  to  be  decreed  by  the  Ha- 
thors. 

Such  was  his  thought,  and  he  raised  himself  to 
curse  the  Seven  Sisters,  and  growing  reckless,  he  in- 
cluded the  unhelpful  gods  in  his  maledictions.  The 
blasphemy  comforted  him  strangely,  and  he  persisted 
till  his  heated  brain  was  cooled. 

At  dawn  the  next  day  he  laid  aside  his  fillet  of  gold, 
his  trappings  and  noble  dress,  and  donning  the  kilt 
or  shenti  of  the  prisoners,  was  handcuffed  to  another 
malefactor  and  taken  forth  to  the  sun-white  plain 
between  Thebes  Diospolis  and  the  Arabian  hills,  to 
labor  in  the  canals  of  the  nome. 

Here,  looking  continually  upon  crime,  brutality  and 
misery,  he  asked  himself  the  divine  motive  in  creating 
man,  and  having  found  no  answer,  he  began  to  ques- 
tion man's  debt  to  the  gods. 

He  was  going  the  way  of  all  the  weak  in  faith.  He 
had  pleaded  with  his  deities,  and  they  had  not  heard 
him.  He  asked  himself  what  he  had  done  to  deserve 
their  disfavor.  The  sacrilege  of  Athor  was  too  slight 
an  offense — if  offense  it  were — and  here  again  he 
paused,  set  his  teeth  and  swore  that  he  had  done  no 
wrong  and  the  god  or  man  that  accused  him  was  im- 
potent, unjust  and  ignorant.  Once  again  he  asked 
himself  what  he  had  done  to  deserve  ill-use  at  the 
hands  of  the  Pantheon.     They  had  turned  a  deaf  ear 


THE   IDOLS    CRUMBLE  369 

to  him,  and  why  should  he  render  them  further  hom- 
age? The  doctrine  of  divine  Love,  displayed  through 
chastisement,  was  not  in  the  Osirian  creed. 

His  eyes  grew  bold  through  rebellion  and  he  at- 
tacked the  wild  inconsistencies  of  the  faith  with  the 
destructive  instrument  of  reason.  Each  deduction  led 
him  on,  fascinated,  in  his  apostasy.  Each  crumbling 
tenet  started  another  toward  ruin.  Finding  no  sound 
obstacle  to  stay  him,  he  fell  with  avidity  to  rending 
the  Pantheon. 

But  he  found  no  cheer  nor  any  hope  that  day  when 
he  told  himself  bitterly,  "There  is  no  God." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


THE  PLAGUES 


The  court  was  gone  and  Masanath  was  making  the 
most  of  each  day  of  her  freedom.  Memphis  was  in 
a  state  of  apathy,  worn  out  by  revel  and  emptied  of 
her  luminaries.  Ta-meri,  intoxicated  with  the  impor- 
tance of  her  position  as  lady-in-waiting  to  the  queen, 
had  departed  with  her  husband,  the  cup-bearer.  Io 
had  returned  to  her  home  in  On,  with  an  ache  in  her 
brave  little  heart  that  outweighed  even  Masanath's 
for  heaviness.  The  last  of  Seti's  lover-like  behavior 
toward  her  dated  back  to  a  time  before  the  court  had 
gone  to  Thebes — long,  long  ago. 

Ta-user,  also,  had  gone,  but  the  fan-bearer's  daugh- 
ter did  not  regret  her.  The  other  ladies  who  re- 
mained in  Memphis,  frightened  at  the  loftiness  of 
Masanath's  future,  were  uneasy  in  her  presence  and 
seemed  more  inclined  to  bend  the  knee  before  her 
than  to  continue  the  girlish  companionship  that  had 
once  been  between  them. 

So  she  must  entertain  herself,  if  she  were  enter- 
tained at  all. 

For  a  time  after  the  departure  of  Meneptah,  Masa- 
nath had  given  herself  up  to  tears  and  gloom.  When 
she  had  worn  out  her  grief,  the  elastic  spirit  of  youth 

370 


THE   PLAGUES  371 

reasserted  itself  and  once  again  she  was  as  cheerful 
as  she  felt  it  becoming  to  be  under  the  circumstances. 

The  fan-bearer  had  taken  a  house  for  his  daughter's 
use,  during  her  year  of  solitary  residence,  and  her  own 
servants,  a  lady-in-waiting,  the  devoted  Nari,  Pepi,  a 
courier  and  upper  servant,  lean,  brown  and  taciturn, 
and  several  slaves,  both  black  and  white,  had  been 
left  with  her.  The  older  daughter  of  the  fan-bearer 
lived  with  her  husband  in  Pelusium.  Her  home  could 
have  been  an  asylum  for  the  younger,  but  Masanath 
was  determined  to  know  one  year  of  absolute  inde- 
pendence before  she  entered  the  long  bondage  of 
queenship. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  June,  the  height  of  Egyp- 
tian summer.  In  a  little  space  the  marshes,  which  had 
been,  for  eight  months,  favorite  haunts  of  fowlers, 
would  be  submerged,  for  the  inundation  was  not  far 
away. 

Masanath  would  hunt  for  wild-duck  and  marsh-hen, 
while  there  was  yet  time. 

It  was  an  hour  after  sunrise.  Her  raft,  built  of 
papyrus,  was  boat-shaped  and  graceful  as  a  swan. 
Pepi  was  at  the  long-handled  sweep  in  the  stern.  Ma- 
sanath sat  in  the  middle,  which  was  heaped  with  nets, 
throw-sticks,  and  bows  and  arrows.  A  pair  of  decoy 
birds,  tame  and  unfettered,  stood  near  her,  craning 
their  small  heads,  puzzled  at  the  movement  of  the  boat 
which  was  undecipherable  since  they  were  motionless. 
Nari  sat  in  the  prow,  her  hands  folded,  her  face  quite 
expressionless.  The  service  of  the  day  was  out  of  the 
routine,  but  as  a  good  servant,  she  was  capable  of 
adapting  herself  to  the  change. 

The  little  craft  darted  away  from  the  painted  land- 


372  THE   YOKE 

ing  for  pleasure  boats,  and  reaching  midstream,  was 
turned  toward  the  north.  The  current  caught  it  and 
swept  it  along  like  a  leaf. 

As  they  passed  the  stone  wharf  at  Masaarah,  Nari 
looked  toward  the  quarries  with  a  show  of  interest  on 
her  face.  She  even  caught  her  breath  to  speak.  Ma- 
sanath  noted  her  animation. 

"What  is  it,  Nari  ?" 

"Naught  but  a  bit  of  gossip  that  came  to  mine  ears, 
last  night,  and  the  sight  of  Masaarah  urged  me  to  tell 
it  again.  It  is  said  the  Hebrews  of  these  quarries  rose 
against  the  new  driver  and  drove  him  out  of  the  camp, 
crying,  'Return  us  our  Atsu,  return  us  our  Atsu.'  " 

"What  folly!"  Masanath  exclaimed.  "If  they  had 
been  the  host  which  crowds  Goshen  to  her  bounds,  it 
might  serve.  But  this  handful  in  rebellion  against 
Egypt!  The  military  of  the  Memphian  nome  will 
crush  them  as  if  they  had  been  so  many  ants." 

1  "I  know,"  the  serving-woman  admitted.  "The  sol- 
dier I  had  it  from,  said  that  the  city  commandant 
would  move  against  them  by  noon  this  day." 

"The  gods  help  them !"  Pepi  put  in. 

"Thy  prayer  is  too  late,  Pepi,"  Masanath  answered. 
"The  gods  should  have  cautioned  them  ere  they  took 
the  step.  And  yet,"  she  continued,  musing,  "straits 
may  become  so  sore  that  aught  but  endurance  is  wel- 
come." 

Her  servants  looked  at  her  and  at  each  other,  under- 
standing. 

Nari  went  on : 

"But  the  soldier  told  me  further  that  the  Israelites 
had  spent  the  night  chanting  and  dancing  before  their 


THE   PLAGUES  1373 

God,  and  it  seems  from  this  spot  that  the  quarries  are 
empty.    They  do  not  fear,  boasting  their  God's  care." 

Masanath  shook  her  head.  "He  must  look  to  them 
at  once,  ere  the  soldiery  fall  upon  them.  His  time  for 
aid  is  short,"  she  said. 

A  silence  fell,  and  the  raft  passed  below  Masaarah. 
Again  Nari  spoke,  proving  that  she  had  heard  and 
thought  upon  the  last  words  of  her  mistress. 

"Are  not  the  gods  omnipotent  and  everywhere?" 

"Aye,  so  hast  thou  been  taught,  Nari." 

"Our  gods,  and  the  gods  of  every  nation  like  them  ?" 
the  serving-woman  persisted. 

"The  gods  of  Egypt  are  so,  and  each  nation  boasts 
its  gods  equally  potent." 

"Mayhap  the  Hebrews'  God  will  help  them,"  Nari 
ventured. 

Masanath  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "He  hath  de- 
serted them  for  long,"  she  said  at  last,  "but  they  are 
hard-pressed.  Mayhap  their  loud  supplications  will 
reach  Him  in  His  retreat." 

"They  boast  that  He  hath  returned." 

"Let  Him  prove  Himself,"  Masanath  insisted  stoutly. 

When  next  she  spoke  there  was  no  hint  of  the  past 
serious  talk  in  her  voice. 

"A  pest  on  the  ban,"  she  exclaimed.  "Look  at  the 
Marsh  of  the  Discontented  Soul.  It  fairly  swarms 
with  teal  and  coot,  and  see  the  snipe  on  the  sand."  She 
stood  up  and  watched  the  sandy  strip  they  were  near- 
ing.  They  were  a  goodly  distance  out  from  the  shore, 
but  Pepi  poled  nearer  midstream.  "The  pity  of  it," 
she  sighed;  "but  I  doubt  not  the  place  swarms  with 
crocodile,  also." 


374  THE   YOKE 

She  sat  down  again,  and  looked  at  the  decoy  birds. 
Their  timidity  had  increased  into  actual  fear.  Masa- 
nath  reached  a  soothing  hand  toward  one  of  them 
and  it  fled.  The  motion  of  the  poling-arm  of  Pepi 
frightened  it  again,  and  with  a  flirt  of  its  wings  it 
retreated  toward  Masanath. 

"Stop  a  moment,  Pepi,"  she  said.  "Let  me  quiet 
this  frightened  thing.    I  can  not  fathom  its  terror." 

"The  unquiet  soul,  my  Lady,"  Nari  whispered,  in 
awe. 

"Strange  that  the  gods  gifted  the ,  creatures  with 
keener  sight  than  men,"  Masanath  answered,  some- 
what disturbed.  She  moved  toward  the  bird,  talking 
softly,  but  the  persuasion  was  as  useless  as  if  the  decoy 
had  been  a  wild  thing.  At  the  nearer  approach  of  the 
small  hand  it  took  wings  and  flew.  The  mate  followed, 
unhesitating.  The  shining  distance  toward  the  west 
swallowed  them  up. 

The  trio  on  the  raft  looked  at  one  another. 

"Nay,  now,  saw  ye  the  like  before?"  Masanath 
exclaimed,  the  tone  of  her  voice  divided  between  as- 
tonishment and  irritation  at  the  loss  of  her  pets. 

"Let  us  leave  this  vicinity,"  Pepi  said,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word,  "it  is  unholy."  He  seized  the 
sweep  and  drove  the  raft  about,  poling  with  wide 
strokes.  At  that  moment,  a  cry,  which  was  more  of 
a  hoarse  whisper,  broke  from  his  lips. 

"Body  of  Osiris !    The  river !    the  river !" 

Masanath  leaned  on  one  hand  and  looked  over  the 
side  of  the  raft.  With  a  bound  and  a  shivering  cry, 
Nari  was  cowering  beside  her,  the  little  craft  tossing 
on  the  waves  at  the  force  of  the  leap.  Instantly,  Pepi 
was  at  her  other  side,  on  his  knees,  praying  and  shak- 


THE   PLAGUES  375 

ing.  And  together  the  trio  huddled,  but  only  one, 
Masanath,  was  brave  enough  to  watch  what  was  hap- 
pening. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  Nile  a  turbid  convection 
was  taking  place,  as  if  the  river  silt  had  been  stirred 
up,  but  the  turning  current  was  assuming  a  dull  red 
tinge.  The  action  had  been  rapid.  Already  the  stain 
had  predominated,  streaks  of  clear  water,  only  here 
and  there,  clarifying  the  opaque  coloring.  The  boat 
rode  half  its  depth  in  red,  the  paddle  dripped  red,  the 
splashes  of  water  within  on  the  bottom  were  red,  the 
sun  shone  broadly  into  the  mirroring  red,  a  sliding, 
reeking  red !  A  lavender  foam  broke  its  bubbles 
against  the  drifting  raft  and  a  tepid,  invisible  vapor, 
like  a  moist  breath,  exhaled  from  the  ensanguined 
surface. 

Schools  of  fish,  struggling  and  leaping,  filled  the 
space  immediately  above  the  water,  and  cumbered  the 
raft  with  a  writhing  mass.  Numberless  crocodiles 
bounded  into  the  air,  braying,  snorting,  rending  one  an- 
other and  churning  the  river  into  froth  by  their  hide- 
ous battle.  Dwellers  of  the  deep  water  drifted  into 
the  upper  tide — monsters  of  the  muck  at  the  Nile  bot- 
tom, turtles,  huge  crawfish,  water-newts,  spotted 
snakes,  curious  bleached  creatures  that  had  never 
seen  the  day,  great  drifts  of  insects,  with  frogs,  tad- 
poles— everything  of  aquatic  animate  life,  came  up 
dead  or  dying  terribly.  Along  either  bank  water- 
buffalo  and  wallowing  swine,  which  had  been  in  the 
pools  near  the  river,  clambered  ponderously,  snorting 
at  every  step. 

Vessels  were  putting  about  and  flying  for  the  shore. 
From  the  prow  of  one  tall  boat,  with  distended  sails,  a 


376  THE   YOKE 

figure  was  seen  to  spring  high  and  disappear  under 
the  red  torrent.  Rioting  crews  of  river-men  fought 
for  first  landing  at  the  accessible  places  on  the  banks. 
Memphis  shrieked  and  the  pastures  became  compounds 
of  wild  beasts  that  deafened  heaven  with  their  savage 
bellowing. 

Pepi  and  Nari  had  no  thought  of  saving  themselves. 
It  was  Masanath  who  must  save  them.  They  clung 
to  her,  dragging  her  down  with  their  arms  when  she 
attempted  to  rise.  Bereft  of  reason,  they  made  the 
liquid  echoes  of  the  river  ring  with  wild  cries  of 
mortal  terror. 

Masanath  had  sufficient  instinct  left  to  urge  her  to 
fly.  With  a  mighty  effort  she  shook  off  her  servants 
and  sprang  to  the  sweep.  Instantly  they  made  to  fol- 
low her,  but  she  threatened  them  with  a  hunting- 
stick.  The  combined  weight  of  the  three  in  the  stern 
would  have  swamped  the  frail  boat. 

Seizing  the  sweep  she  poled  with  superhuman 
strength  toward  the  nearest  shore — the  Marsh  of  the 
Discontented  Soul.  If  she  remembered  the  spirit,  she 
forgot  her  fear  of  it.  Any  terror  was  acceptable  other 
than  isolation  on  this  mile-wide  torrent  of  blood. 

The  raft  grounded,  and  as  a  viscous  wash  of  red 
lapped  across  it,  she  leaped  forth,  landing  with  both 
feet  in  the  horror.  She  floundered  out  and  crying  to 
her  servants  to  follow  her,  fled  like  a  mad  thing  up 
the  sandy  stretch  toward  the  distant  wall  of  rock. 

The  boat,  lightened  of  her  weight,  received  a  back- 
ward thrust  as  she  leaped,  and  drifted  out  of  the  reeds. 
The  heavy  current  caught  it  and  swept  it  across  the 
smitten  river  to  the  Memphian  shore.  It  bore  two 
insensible  figures. 


THE   PLAGUES  377 

Masanath  ran,  thinking  only  to  leave  the  ghastly 
flood  behind.  Her  wet  over-dress  flapped  about  her 
ankles.  It,  too,  was  stained,  and  she  tore  if  off  as  she 
ran.  Ahead  of  her  was  a  sagging  limestone  wall,  with 
no  gap,  but  Masanath,  hardly  sane,  would  have  dashed 
herself  against  it,  if  hands  had  not  detained  her. 

"Blood!  Blood!"  she  shrieked.  "Holy  Ptah  save 
us!" 

"Peace !"  some  one  made  answer.    "God  is  with  us." 

The  voice  was  calm  and  reassuring,  the  hands  firm. 
Here,  then,  was  one  who  was  strong  and  unafraid, 
and  therefore,  a  safe  refuge.  No  longer  called  upon 
to  care  for  herself,  Masanath  fell  into  the  arms  of  the 
brave  unknown  and  ceased  to  remember. 

Consciousness  returned  to  her  slowly  and  incom- 
pletely. Horror  had  dazed  her,  and  her  surroundings, 
but  faintly  discovered  in  an  all-enveloping  gloom, 
were  not  conducive  to  mental  repose  and  clearness. 

She  became  aware,  first,  that  she  was  somewhere 
hidden  from  the  sunshine  and  beyond  reach  of  the 
strange  odor  from  the  Nile. 

Next  she  realized  that  she  was  sheltered  in  a  cave ; 
that  slender  lines  of  white  daylight  sifted  through  the 
interstices  of  a  door ;  that  a  lamp  was  burning  some- 
where behind  a  screen ;  that  a  hairy  thing  sat  in  a  cor- 
ner and  looked  at  her  with  half-human  eyes,  and  that, 
as  she  shrank  at  the  sight,  the  warm  support  under 
her  head  moved  and  a  fair  face,  framed  with  golden 
hair,  bent  over  her. 

Then  her  eyes,  becoming  clearer  as  her  recollec- 
tion returned,  wandered  away  toward  the  walls  of  her 
shelter.  They  had  been  hewn  by  hands.  There  was 
an  opening  in  one  side,  leading  into  another  and  a 


378  THE   YOKE 

darker  crypt.  Was  not  this  a  tomb?  She  was  in  the 
Tomb  of  the  Discontented  Soul !  Terrified,  she  strug- 
gled to  gain  her  feet  and  fly,  but  the  awful  memory  of 
the  plague  without  returned  to  her  overwhelmingly. 
Gentle  hands  restrained  her,  and  the  same  voice  that 
had  sought  to  soothe  her  before,  continued  its  soft 
comforting  now. 

"Thou  art  safe  and  sheltered,"  she  heard.  "No  evil 
shall  befall  thee." 

Was  this  the  spirit  of  the  tomb  ?  If  so,  it  was  most 
lovely  and  kindly.  But  a  solemn  voice  issued  out  of 
the  dark  cell  beyond.  This  was  the  spirit,  of  a  surety. 
She  cowered  against  her  fair-haired  protector  and 
shuddered.  But  the  maiden  answered  the  voice  in  a 
strange  tongue.  Masanath  would  have  known  it  to 
be  Hebrew,  had  she  been  composed.  But  now  it  was 
mystic,  cabalistic. 

Presently  the  maiden  addressed  her. 

"Deborah  asks  after  thee,  Lady.  How  shall  I  tell 
her  thou  findest  thyself?" 

"Oh,  I  can  not  tell,"  Masanath  answered.  "What 
has  happened  ?    Is  it  true  or  did  I  go  mad  ?" 

The  Israelite  smoothed  her  hair.  "It  is  a  plague," 
she  said. 

"Then  the  hand  of  Amenti  is  on  us,"  the  Egyptian 
shuddered.    "Whither  shall  we  flee?" 

"Ye  can  not  flee  from  the  One  God,"  the  voice  from 
the  crypt  said  grimly. 

"Nay,  but  what  have  I  done  to  vex  the  gods  ?"  Ma- 
sanath insisted.  "O  let  me  go  hence.  Where  are  my 
servants  ?" 

"It  is  better  for  thee  to  bide  here,"  the  voice  went 


THE   PLAGUES  379 

on  relentlessly.  "For  outside  the  sheltering  neighbor- 
hood of  the  chosen  people,  the  hand  of  the  outraged 
God  shall  overtake  Egypt  and  scorch  her  throat  with 
thirst  and  make  her  veins  congeal  for  want  of  water." 

Masanath  gained  her  feet,  crying  out  wildly : 

"My  servants !    Where  are  they  ?    Let  me  forth." 

The  Israelite  put  an  assuring  arm  about  her.  "Thou 
wilt  not  dare  to  face  the  Nile  again,"  she  warned. 
"Stay  with  us." 

"To  starve!  To  perish  of  thirst!  To  die  of  pes- 
tilence !    The  gods  have  left  us.    We  are  undone !" 

"Aye,  the  gods  have  left  you,"  the  voice  continued 
harshly.  "Ye  are  given  over  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
God  of  Abraham.  Howl,  Egypt!  Rend  thyself  and 
cover  thy  head  with  ashes.  Thy  destruction  is  but 
begun.  For  a  hundred  years  thou  hast  oppressed  Is- 
rael.   Now  is  the  hour  of  the  children  of  God !" 

Masanath  wrung  her  hands,  but  the  voice  went  on. 

"As  the  Nile  flows,  so  hath  the  blood  of  Israel  been 
wasted  by  the  hand  of  Egypt.  Now  shall  the  God  of 
Abraham  drain  her  veins,  even  so,  drop  for  drop.  For 
the  despoiling  of  Israel  shall  her  pastures  and  stables 
be  filled  with  stricken  beasts — for  the  heavy  hand  of 
the  Pharaohs  shall  the  heavens  thunder  and  scourges 
fall.  And  the  wrath  of  God  shall  cool  not  till  Egypt 
is  a  waste,  shorn  of  her  corn  and  her  vineyards  and 
her  riches,  and  foul  with  dead  men." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  vindictive  than  this 
disembodied  voice.  Masanath  thrust  her  fingers 
through  her  hair,  and  drawing  her  elbows  forward, 
sheltered  her  face  with  them. 

"When  have  I  offended  against  the  Hebrew?"  she 


380  THE   YOKE 

cried,  sick  with  terror.  "Why  should  your  awful  God 
destroy  the  innocent  and  the  friend  of  Israel  among  the 
people  of  Egypt  ?" 

Rachel,  who  had  stood  beside  her,  with  an  increas- 
ing cloud  on  her  face,  now  spoke  in  Hebrew.  There 
was  mild  protest  in  her  tones. 

"The  plague  will  pass,"  the  voice  from  the  inner 
crypt  continued.  "Seven  days  will  it  endure,  no 
more." 

"Deborah  is  mystic,"  Rachel  added  softly,  "and  is 
gifted  with  prophetic  eyes.  Much  hath  she  suffered  at 
Egypt's  hands,  and  her  tongue  grows  harsh  when  she 
speaks  of  the  oppression." 

"Nay,  but  let  me  go,"  Masanath  begged.  "Where 
are  my  servants?  Came  they  not  after  me  when  I 
fled  ?" 

"None  followed  thee,  Lady,  and  thy  raft  went 
adrift." 

"Let  me  out  of  this  hideous  place,  then,  for  I  must 
seek  them.    They  may  be  dead." 

Her  tone  was  imperious,  and  Rachel,  silently  obedi- 
ent, led  her  to  the  entrance  and  pushed  aside  the  door. 
Instantly  the  terrible  turmoil  over  Egypt  smote  upon 
her  ears ;  next  she  saw  the  Nile,  moving  slowly,  black 
where  its  clear  surfaces  had  been  green,  scarlet  and 
froth-ridden  where  the  sun  had  shone  upon  transpar- 
ent ripples  and  white  foam ;  after  that,  the  strange 
odor  came  to  her,  recalling  the  smell  of  the  altars,  but 
now  magnified  till  it  was  overpoweringly  strong.  She 
sickened  and  turned  away. 

Setting  the  door  in  place,  Rachel  led  her  back  into 
a  corner  of  the  outer  chamber  and  laid  her  down  on 
the  matting  there. 


THE   PLAGUES  381 

"The  Lord  God  will  care  for  thy  servants.  Fret 
thyself  no  further,  but  be  content  here  until  the  hor- 
ror shall  pass.  I  shall  attend  thee,  so  thou  shalt  not 
miss  their  ministrations."  The  Israelite  spoke  with 
gentle  authority,  smoothing  the  dark  hair  of  her  guest. 
Command  in  the  form  of  persuasion  is  doubly  effec- 
tive, since  it  induces  while  it  compels.  Masanath  was 
most  amenable  to  this  manner  of  entreaty,  since  it  dis- 
armed her  pride  while  it  governed  her  impulses.  Thus, 
though  her  inclination  urged  against  it,  she  ate  when 
the  Israelite  brought  her  a  bit  of  cold  fowl  and  a 
beaker  of  wine  at  midday  and  again  at  sunset.  And  at 
night,  she  slept  because  the  Israelite  told  her  she  was 
safe  and  bade  her  close  her  eyes. 

But  once  she  awoke.  The  lamp  burned  behind  a 
wooden  amphora  rack  and  the  interior  of  the  stone 
chamber  was  not  dark.  The  voice  in  the  inner  cham- 
ber was  still  and  the  human-eyed  beast  in  the  corner 
was  now  only  a  small  hairy  roll.  In  the  silence  she 
would  have  been  dismayed,  but  close  beside  her  sat 
the  Israelite.  One  hand  toyed  absently  with  the 
golden  rings  of  a  collar  about  her  throat.  The  face 
was  averted,  the  hair  unplaited  and  falling  in  a  shower 
of  bright  ripples  over  the  bosom  and  down  the  back. 
The  beauty  of  the  picture  impressed  itself  on  Masa- 
nath, in  spite  of  her  drowsiness.  But  as  well  as  the 
beauty,  the  dejection  in  the  droop  of  the  head,  the 
unhappiness  on  the  face,  were  apparent  even  in  the 
dusk.  Here  was  sorrow — the  kind  of  sorrow  that 
even  the  benign  night  might  not  subdue.  Masanath 
was  well  acquainted  with  such  vigils  as  the  golden  Is- 
raelite seemed  to  be  keeping. 


382  THE   YOKE 

Her  love-lorn  heart  was  stirred.  She  spoke  to 
Rachel  softly. 

"Come  hither  and  lie  down  by  me,"  she  said.  "I  am 
afraid  and  thou  art  unhappy.  Give  me  some  of  thy 
courage  and  I  will  sorrow  with  thee." 

The  Israelite  smiled  sadly  and  obeyed. 

It  was  dawn  when  the  fan-bearer's  daughter  awoke 
again. 

The  door  had  been  •  set  aside,  and  on  the  rock 
threshold  a  squat  copper  lamp  was  sending  up  periodic 
eruptions  of  dense  white  vapor.  Rachel  was  feeding 
the  ember  of  the  cotton  wick  with  bits  of  chopped 
root.  The  breeze  from  the  river  blew  the  fumes  back 
into  the  cave,  filling  the  dark  recesses  with  a  fresh 
and  pungent  odor. 

Masanath,  wondering  and  remembering,  raised  her 
head  to  look  through  the  opening.  Day  was  broad 
over  Egypt,  and  the  turmoil  had  subsided.  The  silence 
was  heavy.  But  the  Nile  was  still  a  wallowing  tor- 
rent of  red. 

She  sank  back  and  drew  the  wide  sleeves  of  her 
dress  over  her  face.  Rachel  put  the  lamp  aside,  set 
the  door  in  place  and  came  to  her. 

''Thou  art  better  for  thy  long  sleep,"  she  said. 
"Now,  if  thou  canst  bear,  as  well,  with  the  meager 
food  this  house  affords,  the  plague  will  not  vex 
thee  sorely."  Then,  in  obedience  to  the  Israelite's 
offer,  Masanath  sat  up  and  suffered  Rachel  to  dress 
her  hair  and  bathe  her  tiny  hands  and  face  with  a 
solution  of  weak  white  wine. 

"The  water  which  we  had  stored  with  us  is  also 
corrupted.  I  fear  we  shall  thirst,  if  we  have  but  wine 
to  wet  our  lips,"  Rachel  explained. 


THE   PLAGUES  383 

"Thou  dost  not  tell  me  that  ye  abide  in  this  place  ?" 
the  fan-bearer's  daughter  asked,  taking  the  piece  of 
fowl  and  hard  bread  which  Rachel  offered  her. 

"Even  so,"  Rachel  responded  after  a  little  silence. 

"Holy  Isis !  guests  of  a  spirit !  What  a  ghastly  hos- 
pice for  women !    How  came  ye  here  ?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  so  marked  that 
Masanath  ceased  her  dainty  feeding  and  drew  back  a 
little. 

"Are  ye  lepers  ?"  she  asked  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"Nay,  we  are  fugitives,"  Rachel  answered. 

"Fugitives!  What  strait  brought  you  to  seek  such 
asylum  as  this  ?" 

Again  a  speaking  pause. 

"Who  art  thou,  Lady  ?"  Rachel  asked,  at  last. 

"I  am  Masanath,  daughter  of  Har-hat,  fan-bearer 
to  the  Pharaoh." 

"And  thou  art  a  friend  of  the  oppressed  ?"  the  Israel- 
ite continued. 

"It  is  my  boast  before  the  gods,"  the  Egyptian  an- 
swered with  dignity. 

"I  am  Rachel,  of  Israel,  daughter  of  Maai,  and  I 
have  fled  from  shame.  In  all  Egypt,  this  is  the  one 
and  only  refuge  for  such  as  I.  If  my  hiding-place 
were  published,  no  help  could  save  me  from  the  de- 
spoiler.  My  one  protector  is  she  who  lies  within.  She 
is  my  foster-mother,  old  and  ill  from  abuse  at  the 
hands  of  brutal  servants.    Thou  hast  my  story." 

As  Rachel  ceased,  Deborah  called  from  within. 

"There  is  more,"  she  said.  "Come  hither.  I  am 
moved  to  tell  thee." 

Masanath  obeyed  with  hesitation  and,  pausing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  inner  chamber,  heard  the  story  of 


384  THE  YOKE 

the  Israelites.  Great  was  her  perplexity  and  her  sor- 
row when  she  heard  the  name  of  Kenkenes  spoken 
calmly  and  without  grief.  They  did  not  know  he  was 
dead!  She  held  her  peace  till  the  story  was  done. 
How  much  more  would  her  heart  have  been  tortured 
could  the  old  woman  have  given  her  the  name  of  the 
offending  noble !  Instead,  all  unsuspecting,  she  heard 
the  story  of  Har-hat's  wrong-doing  with  now  and 
then  an  exclamation  of  indignation,  condemning  him 
heartily  in  her  soul. 

"The  time  for  the  Egyptian's  return  is  long  past, 
but  he  will  come  soon,"  Deborah  concluded. 

Masanath  slowly  turned  her  head  and  looked  at 
Rachel.  This,  then,  was  the  love  of  that  dear,  dead 
artist,  for  whom  Memphis  mourned  and  had  ceased 
to  wait.  How  doubly  grievous  his  loss,  for  Rachel 
was  undone  thereby !  How  heart-breaking  to  see  her 
wait  for  him  who  would  come  no  more!  Masanath 
choked  back  her  tears  and  said,  when  she  was  com- 
posed again : 

"Ye  need  not  molder  in  this  cave.  I  can  hide  you 
in  Memphis." 

"Nay,  we  will  await  him  here." 

"But  the  Nile  will  be  upon  your  refuge  in  three 
weeks.  Ye  would  starve  if  ye  drowned  not,"  the  Egyp- 
tian protested  earnestly. 

"It  may  be  we  shall  not  wait  so  long,"  Rachel  put 
in. 

Masanath  looked  at  her  while  she  thought  busily. 
"If  I  tell  it,  I  break  a  heart.  But  if  they  bide  here, 
they  die.  None  other  will  come  to  them  by  chance  or 
on  purpose." 

"I  would  not  risk  it,"  she  answered.    Returning  to 


THE   PLAGUES  385 

the  pallet  of  matting  she  finished  her  breakfast  in 
silence.  After  a  little  sigh  she  glanced  at  the  wine  in 
one  of  the  small  amphorae  which  Rachel  had  brought 
to  her  as  a  drinking-cup.  "Mayhap  the  plague  is 
past,"  she  said,  hinting,  "and  I  am  athirst." 

Rachel  took  up  another  jar  and  went  forth.  The 
hairy  creature  in  the  corner,  tethered  to  the  amphora 
rack,  slipped  his  collar  and  followed  her. 

As  soon  as  the  Israelite  was  gone,  Masanath  went 
into  the  inner  chamber.  Standing  by  the  old  woman, 
who  lay  upon  a  mattress,  set  on  the  top  of  the  sar- 
cophagus, she  said  hurriedly : 

"Ye  may  not  remain  here.  Kenkenes  is  known  to 
me  and  he  will  not  return." 

"Thou  dost  not  tell  me  he  was  false  to  us,"  Deborah 
exclaimed.     "Nay,  I  will  not  believe  it,"  she  declared. 

"Nay,  he  was  the  soul  of  honor,  but  he  is  dead." 

"Dead !"  the  old  woman  cried,  catching  at  her  dress. 

"Hush!    Tell  her  not!" 

"Aye,  thou  art  right.  Tell  her  not !  But — but  how 
did  he  die?" 

"By  drowning.  His  boat  was  discovered  battered 
and  overturned  among  the  wharf-piling  at  Memphis, 
some  weeks  agone." 

The  old  woman  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then 
she  shook  her  head. 

"He  is  a  resourceful  youth  and  he  may  have  pro- 
cured another  boat  and  set  this  one  adrift  to  deceive 
his  enemies.  Yet,  the  time  has  been  so  long,  it  may  be ; 
it  may  be." 

"None  in  Memphis  doubts  it.  His  father  hath  given 
him  up  and  his  house  and  his  people  are  in  mourning. 
But  we  may  not  lose  this  moment  in  surmises.    Wilt 


386  THE   YOKE 

thou  go  with  me  into  Memphis — if  this  sending  is 
withdrawn  ?" 

"There  is  no  other  choice,"  Deborah  answered  after 
some  pondering.  "Kenkenes  offered  us  refuge  with 
his  father — alas!  that  the  young  man  should  die!" 
After  shaking  her  head  and  muttering  to  herself  in 
her  own  tongue,  she  went  on.  "But  Rachel  hesitated 
to  accept,  at  first  from  maiden  shyness,  though  now 
she  hath  a  secret  fear,  I  doubt  not,  that  the  Egyptian 
may  have  played  her  false.  The  sorry  news  must  be 
told  her  ere  she  would  go." 

"Nay,  keep  it  from  her  yet  a  while.  Tell  her  not 
now." 

"How  may  we?"  Deborah  asked  helplessly. 

"Listen.  I  am  a  householder  in  Memphis  for  a  year. 
The  place  is  secure  from  much  visiting  and  only  my 
trusted  servants  are  there.  They  will  not  tell  her — 
none  else  will — thou  and  I  shall  keep  discreet  tongues, 
but  if  the  fact  creep  out,  in  the  way  of  such  things,  we 
need  not  accuse  ourselves  of  killing  her  hope.  As  thou 
sayest,  the  young  man  may  not  be  dead.  But  let  us 
not  risk  anything. 

"And  furthermore,"  she  caught  up  the  lirie  of  her 
talk  before  Deborah  could  answer,  "I  may  as  well 
work  good  out  of  an  evil  I  can  not  escape.  I  am  be- 
trothed to  the  heir  of  the  crown  of  Egypt — " 

Deborah  flung  up  her  hand,  drawing  away  in  her 
amazement. 

"Thou!  A  coming  queen  over  the  proud  land  of 
Mizraim — a  guest  in  the  retreat  of  enslaved  Israel!" 

Masanath  bent  her  head.  "Ye,  in  your  want  and 
distress,  are  not  more  poor  or  wretched  than  I." 


THE    PLAGUES       '  387 

The  old  Israelite's  brilliant  eyes  glittered  in  the  dark. 

"Hold!"  she  exclaimed.     "Thou  art  not  a  slave — " 

"Nay,  am  I  not?"  Masanath  rejoined  swiftly.  "A 
slave,  a  chattel,  doubly  enthralled !  But  enough  of 
this.  I  would  have  said  that  if  I  wed  the  prince,  I 
can  ask  Rachel's  freedom  at  his  hands." 

"So  thou  canst,"  Deborah  said  eagerly — but  before 
she  could  continue,  Rachel  appeared  at  the  outer  open- 
ing, the  amphora  held  by  one  arm,  the  ape  by  the  other. 
Her  face  was  alight  with  a  smile  that  seemed  danger- 
ously akin  to  tears. 

"Here  is  water,  clean  and  fresh,  but  the  Nile  is 
bank-full  of  the  plague.  It  was  Anubis  that  showed 
me !"  She  lowered  the  amphora  into  the  rack  and 
took  up  the  linen  band  the  ape  had  slipped.  "Oh,  it 
is  ungrateful  to  tie  thee,  Anubis,"  she  went  on,  "but 
thou  must  not  betray  us,  thou  good  creature." 

"It  was  Anubis !"  Deborah  repeated  inquiringly. 

"Aye.  Not  once  did  the  hideous  sight  disturb  him. 
He  was  athirst  and  he  made  me  a  well  in  the  sand  with 
his  paws.  See  how  Jehovah  hath  sent  us  succor  by 
humble  hands."  She  stroked  the  hairy  grotesque  and 
tethered  him  reluctantly. 

Deborah  muttered  under  her  breath.  "I  liked  the 
creature  not,  since  he  made  me  think  of  the  abomina- 
ble idolatries  of  Mizraim,  but  he  hath  served  the  op- 
pressed.   He  shall  be  more  endurable  to  me." 

The  night  fell  and  the  dawn  came  again  and  again, 
but  holy  Hapi  was  denied.  Hour  by  hour  the  fum- 
ing lamp  was  set  before  the  entrance,  the  door  was 
put  a  little  aside,  that  the  entering  air  might  be  puri- 
fied for  those  within.     When  the  aromatic  was  ex- 


388  THE   YOKE 

hausted,  Rachel  sought  for  the  root  once  more,  among 
the  herbs  at  the  river-bank;  for  the  atmosphere,  un- 
sweetened, was  beyond  endurance. 

Never  a  boat  appeared  on  the  water,  nor  was  any 
human  being  seen  abroad.  Egypt  retired  to  her  dark- 
est corner  and  shuddered. 

But  after  the  seven  days  were  fulfilled,  the  horror 
on  the  waters  was  gone.  It  went  as  miasma  is  dis- 
pelled by  the  sun  and  wind — as  pestilence  is  killed  by 
the  frost — unseen,  unprotesting.  The  lifting  of  the 
plague  was  as  awesome  as  its  coming,  but  it  was  not 
horrible.  That  was  the  only  difference.  Egypt  re- 
joiced, but  she  trembled  nevertheless  and  went  about 
timidly. 

The  Israelite  and  the  Egyptian  carried  the  punt,  the 
boat  of  Khafra  and  Sigur,  and  launched  it  on  the 
clean  waters.  Then  they  prepared  themselves  and 
Deborah  and  Anubis  for  a  journey,  and  ere  they  de- 
parted, Masanath,  at  Rachel's  bidding,  wrote  with  a 
soft  soapstone  upon  the  rock  over  the  portal  of  the 
tomb,  the  whereabouts  of  its  whilom  dwellers : 

"Her,  whom  thou  seekest,  thou  wilt  find  at  the  man- 
sion of  Har-hat  in  the  city." 

At  sunset,  Rachel,  all  unsuspecting,  was  sheltered 
in  the  house  of  her  enemy. 

Masanath's  servants  had  sought  for  her,  frantically 
and  without  system  or  method.  Pepi  and  Nari  had 
been  saved  by  the  gods.  They  did  not  know  where 
she  had  gone,  and  nothing  human  or  divine  could 
have  driven  them  over  the  Nile  to  search  for  her  in 
the  Arabian  hills.  And  for  that  reason  likewise,  they 
did  not  notify  Har-hat  of  his  daughter's  loss.     The 


THE   PLAGUES  389 

messenger  would  have  had  to  cross  the  smitten  river. 
They  intended  to  send  for  the  fan-bearer,  but  they 
waited  for  the  plague  to  lift.     When  it  was  gone,  Ma- 
sanath  returned  to  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


HE  HARDENED  HIS   HEART 


The  Nile  rose  and  fell  and  the  seasons  shifted  until 
eight  months  had  passed.  The  period  was  inconsider- 
able, but  its  events  had  never  been  equaled  in  a  like 
space,  or  a  generation,  or  a  whole  dynasty,  or  in  all 
the  history  of  Egypt. 

When  the  ancient  Hebrew  shepherd  from  Midian 
first  demanded  audience  with  Meneptah,  Egypt  was 
autocrat  of  the  earth  and  mistress  of  the  seas.  Her 
name  was  Glory  and  Perpetual  Life  and  her  substance 
was  all  the  fullness  of  the  earth  and  the  treasures 
thereof.  But  eight  months  after  the  Hebrew  shep- 
herd had  gone  forth  from  that  first  audience,  how  had 
the  mighty  fallen !  She  was  stripped  of  her  groves 
and  desolated  in  her  wheat-fields;  her  gardens  were 
naked,  her  vineyards  were  barren,  and  the  vultures 
grew  fat  on  the  dead  in  her  pastures.  About  the 
thrice-fortified  walls  of  her  cities  her  gaunt  husband- 
men were  camped,  pensioners  upon  the  granaries  of 
the  king.  Her  commerce  had  stagnated  because  she 
had  no  goods  to  barter ;  her  society  ceased  to  revel,  for 
her  people  were  called  upon  to  preserve  themselves. 
Her  arts  were  forgotten ;  only  religion  held  its  own 
and  that  from  very  fear.  Egypt  was  on  her  knees, 
but  the  gods  were  aghast  and  helpless  in  the  face  of 

390 


HE   HARDENED   HIS    HEART  391 

the  hideous  power  of  the  unsubstantial,  unimaged  God 
of  Israel. 

Never  had  a  monarch  been  forced  to  meet  such  con- 
ditions, but  in  all  the  mighty  line  of  Pharaohs  no  fee- 
bler king  than  Meneptah  could  have  faced  them.  In 
treating  with  the  issue  he  had  fretted  and  fumed, 
promised  and  retracted,  temporized  with  the  Hebrew 
mystic  or  stormed  at  him,  hesitated  and  resolved,  and 
reconsidered  and  deferred  while  his  realm  descended 
into  the  depths  of  ruin  and  despair. 

It  would  seem  that  the  dire  misfortunes  would  have 
pressed  the  timid  monarch,  into  immediate  submission. 
But  a  glance  at  conditions  may  explain  the  cause  of 
his  obduracy. 

At  this  period  in  theological  chronology,  human  at- 
tributes for  the  first  time  were  eliminated  from  the 
character  of  a  god.  Moses  depicted  the  first  purely 
divine  deity.  Omnipotence  was  ascribed  to  the  gods, 
but  Pantheism  being  full  of  paradoxes,  the  gods  were 
not  omnipotent.  Loud  as  were  the  panegyrics  of  the 
devout,  the  devout  recognized  the  limitations  of  their 
divinities.  None  had  ever  dreamed  of  a  deity  that  was 
actually  omnipotent,  actually  infinite.  Meneptah 
measured  the  God  of  Israel  by  his  own  gods.  Further- 
more, the  miracles  did  not  amaze  him  as  they  appalled 
Egypt.  He  was  exceedingly  superstitious;  in  his  eye 
the  most  ordinary  natural  phenomenon  was  a  demon- 
stration of  the  occult.  No  matter  that  the  advanced 
science  of  his  time  explained  rainfall,  unusual  heat  or 
cold,  over-fruitful  or  unproductive  years,  pestilence 
and  sudden  death,  eclipses,  comets  and  meteors, — he 
believed  them  to  be  the  direct  results  of  sorcery.  Ca- 
lamitous as  the  effects  may  have  been  upon  other  peo- 


392  THE   YOKE 

pie,  he  had  ever  escaped  harm  from  these  sources.  It 
was  not  strange  that  in  time  he  ceased  to  fear  miracles, 
and  the  demonstrations  of  Moses  were  not  so  terrify- 
ing, inasmuch  as  they  did  not  greatly  affect  him. 

His  horses  died,  but  Arabia  was  near  to  replenish 
his  stables ;  the  pests  annoyed  him,  but  his  servants 
fended  them  from  him ;  the  blains  troubled  him,  but 
his  court  physicians  were  able  and  gave  him  relief ; 
the  thunders  frightened  him,  but  his  fright  passed  with 
the  storm.  Whenever  the  sendings  became  unendura- 
ble he  had  but  to  yield  to  gain  a  respite,  and  then  he 
forgot  the  experience  in  a .  day.  Meanwhile  he  ate, 
slept  and  walked  in  the  same  luxury  he  had  known  in 
happier  years. 

Therefore,  Meneptah  neither  realized  his  peril  nor 
was  personally  much  aggrieved  by  the  troublous 
times. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  all  the  people  of  his 
realm  were  not  sheltered  against  the  plagues  by  wealth 
and  many  servants.  He  could  not  understand  why 
Egypt  should  be  restive  under  the  same  afflictions  that 
he  had  borne  with  fortitude.  Summoning  all  evidence 
from  his  point  of  view,  he  was  able  to  present  to  him- 
self a  case  of  personal  persecution  and  ill-use.  The 
Hebrews  belonged  to  him,  and  because  he  held  them 
their  God  afflicted  Egypt.  Egypt  complained  and 
would  have  him  sacrifice  his  private  property,  his 
slaves,  for  its  sake.  To  the  peevish  king  the  demand 
was  unreasonable.  Yet  he  was  not  extraordinary  in 
his  behavior.  Unselfishness  was  not  an  attribute  of 
ancient  kings. 

Meneptah  was  a  man  that  wished  to  be  swayed. 
He  craved  approbation  and  was  helpless  without  an 


HE   HARDENED    HIS    HEART  393 

abettor.  His  puny  ideas  had  to  be  championed  by 
another  before  they  became  fixed  convictions.  After 
the  plague  of  locusts,  the  Hebrew  question  reached 
serious  proportions.  Har-hat  had  estranged  most  of 
the  ministers,  and  in  his  strait  Meneptah  felt  vaguely 
and  for  the  first  time  that  he  needed  the  acquiescence 
of  others  in  addition  to  the  fan-bearer's  ready  concord. 

One  early  morning,  in  a  corridor  leading  from  the 
entrance,  he  met  Hotep.  A  sudden  impulse  urged  him 
to  consult  his  scribe. 

"Where  hast  thou  been  ?"  he  asked,  noticing  Hotep's 
street  dress. 

"To  the  temple,  O  Son  of  Ptah." 

"What  hast  thou  to  ask  of  the  gods  that  thy  king 
can  not  give  thee  ?" 

Hotep  hesitated,  and  the  color  rushed  into  his  cheeks. 
The  Hathors  tortured  him  with  an  opportunity  he 
dared  not  seize.     How  could  he  ask  for  Masanath? 

"I  went  to  pray  for  that  which  all  Egyptians  crave 
at  this  hour — the  succor  of  Egypt,"  he  said,  instead. 

Meneptah  signed  his  scribe  to  follow  him  to  a  seat 
near  by. 

"Why  may  I  not  require  of  thee  the  services  of  a 
higher  minister?"  he  began,  after  he  had  seated  him- 
self. "Never  hast  thou  failed  me,  and  I  can  not  say  so 
much  of  the  great  nobles  above  thee.  Serve  me  well  in 
this,  Hotep,  and  thou  mayest  take  the  place  of  some 
one  of  these." 

"Let  me  but  serve  thee,"  the  scribe  returned  plac- 
idly ;  "that  is  reward  in  itself." 

"Thou  knowest,"  the  king  began,  plunging  into  the 
heart  of  the  question,  "that  I  yielded  to  these 
ravening  wolves,  Mesu  and  Aaron.    I  have  consented 


394  THE   YOKE 

to  release  the  Israelites.  But  other  thought  hath  come 
to  me  in  the  night.  Thou  knowest  that  no  evil  hath  be- 
fallen the  land  of  Goshen.  Har-hat  explaineth  this 
strange  thing  by  the  location  of  the  strip.  The  Nile 
toucheth  it  not  and  rains  fall  there.  Furthermore  the 
winds  blow  differently  in  that  district,  and  withal  the 
hand  of  Rannu  of  the  harvests  hath  sheltered  it.  It 
may  be,  but  to  me  it  seemeth  that  the  Hebrew  sorcerer 
hath  cast  a  protecting  spell  over  the  spot.  But  what- 
ever the  cause,  the  race  of  churls  and  their  riches  have 
escaped  misfortune.  Thinkest  thou  not,  good  Hotep, 
that,  if  they  must  go,  we  may  by  right  require  their 
flocks  of  them  to  replenish  the  pastures  of  Egypt  ?" 

Surely  the  Hathors  were  exploiting  themselves  this 
day.  Another  opportunity  for  good  and  what  would 
come  of  it  ?  Hotep  knew  the  man  with  whom  he  dealt. 
Still  it  were  a  sin  to  slight  even  an  unprofitable  chance 
that  seemed  to  offer  alleviation  for  Egypt.  He  would 
proceed  cautiously  and  do  his  best. 

"Be  the  little  lamp  trimmed  never  so  brightly,  O 
Son  of  Ptah,  it  may  not  help  the  sun.  Thou  art  mon- 
arch, I  am  thy  slave.  How  can  I  mold  thee,  my 
King?" 

"Others  have  swayed  me,  thou  modest  man." 

"In  that  hour  when  thou  wast  swayed,  O  Meneptah, 
another  than  thyself  ruled  over  Egypt." 

Meneptah  looked  in  amazement  at  his  scribe.  He 
had  never  considered  the  influence  of  Har-hat  in  that 
light,  but,  by  the  gods,  it  seemed  strangely  correct. 
He  straightened  himself. 

"Be  thou  assured,  Hotep,  that  I  weigh  right  well 
whatever  counsel  mine  advisers  offer  me  before  I  in- 
dorse it." 


HE   HARDENED    HIS    HEART  395 

Hotep  bowed.  "That  I  know.  And  for  that  reason 
do  I  hesitate  to  give  thee  my  little  thoughts.  It  would 
hurt  the  man  in  me  to  see  them  thrust  aside." 

"Thou  evadest,"  Meneptah  contended  smiling. 
"Wherefore?" 

"Because,  O  King,  I  should  advise  against  thine  in- 
clinations." 

"Wherefore?"  Meneptah  demanded  again,  this  time 
with  some  asperity. 

"We  hold  the  Hebrews/'  was  the  undisturbed  re- 
ply ;  "through  destruction  and  plague  we  have  held 
them.  They  boast  the  calamities  as  sendings  from  their 
God.  Egypt's  afflictions  multiply ;  every  resort  hath 
failed  us.  One  is  left — to  free  the  slaves  and  test  their 
boast." 

Meneptah's  face  had  grown  deprecatory. 

"Dost  thou  espouse  the  cause  of  thy  nation's  en- 
emy ?"  he  asked. 

"I  espouse  the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  and  which, 
now,  is  more  oppressed — Egypt  or  the  Hebrew?" 

This  was  different  sort  of  persuasion  from  that 
which  the  king  had  heard  since  Har-hat  took  up  the 
fan.  The  scribe  was  compelling  him  by  reason ;  the 
man's  personality  was  not  entering  at  all  into  the  ar- 
gument. Meneptah's  high  brows  knitted.  He  felt 
his  feeble  resolution  filter  away ;  his  inclination  to  hold 
the  Hebrews  stayed  with  him,  but  the  power  to  with- 
stand Hotep 's  strong  argument  was  not  in  him. 

"What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do?"  he  asked  queru- 
lously. 

"I  am  but  a  mouthpiece  for  thy  realm ;  I  counsel  not 
for  myself.     The  strait  of  Egypt  demands  that  thou 


396  THE  YOKE 

set  the  Hebrew  free,  yield  his  goods  and  his  children 
to  him,  and  be  rid  of  him  and  his  plagues  for  ever." 

Hotep  spoke  as  if  he  were  reciting  a  law  from  the 
books  of  the  great  God  Toth.  His  tone  did  not  invite 
further  contention.  He  had  read  the  king  his  duty, 
and  it  behooved  the  king  to  obey.  A  silence  ensued, 
and  by  the  signs  growing  on  Meneptah's  face,  Hotep 
predicted  acquiescence.  It  can  not  be  said,  however, 
that  he  noted  them  hopefully.  Much  time  would  elapse 
in  which  much  contrary  persuasion  was  possible  before 
Israel  could  depart  from  Egypt. 

Rameses  came  out  of  the  dusk  at  the  end  of  the  cor- 
ridor. The  king  raised  himself  eagerly  and  summoned 
his  son. 

"Hither,  my  Rameses !" 

With  suspense  in  his  soul,  Hotep  saw  the  prince  ap- 
proach. Rameses  had  never  expressed  himself  upon 
the  Hebrew  question,  and  the  scribe  knew  full  well 
that  neither  himself  nor  Har-hat,  nor  all  the  ministers, 
nor  heaven  and  earth  could  militate  against  the  coun- 
sel of  that  grim  young  tyrant.  Meneptah  spoke  with 
much  appeal  in  his  voice. 

"Rameses,  I  need  thee.  Awake  out  of  thy  dream  and 
help  me.  What  shall  I  do  with  the  Hebrews  ?" 

"I  have  trusted  to  my  father's  sufficient  wisdom  to 
help  him  in  his  strait,  without  advice  of  mine,"  was  the 
indifferent  reply. 

"Aye ;  but  I  crave  thy  counsel,  now,  my  son." 

"Then,  neither  god  nor  devil  could  make  me  loose 
my  grasp  did  I  wish  to  hold  the  Hebrews !" 

Hotep  sighed,  inaudibly,  and  was  moved  to  depart, 
had  not  lack  of  the  king's  permission  made  him  stay. 


HE   HARDENED   HIS   HEART         397 

"But  consider  the  losses  to  my  realm,"  Meneptah 
made  perfunctory  protest.    The  prince's  full  lip  curled. 

"This  is  but  a  new  method  of  warfare,"  he  answered. 
"Instead  of  going  forth  with  thy  foot-soldiers  and  thy 
chariots,  thy  javelins  and  thy  shields,  thou  sufferest 
siege  within  thy  borders.  Wilt  thou  fling  up  thy  hands 
and  open  thy  gates  to  thine  enemy,  while  yet  there  is 
plenty  within  the  realm  and  men  to  post  its  walls? 
Let  it  not  be  written  down  against  thee,  O  my  father, 
that  thou  didst  so.  Losses  to  Egypt !"  the  phrase  was 
bitter  with  scorn.  "Dost  thou  remember  how  many 
dead  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh  left  in  Asia?  How 
many  perished  of  thirst  in  the  deserts  and  of  cold  in 
the  mountains,  and  of  pestilence  in  the  marshes?  Ran 
not  the  rivers  of  the  Orient  with  Egyptian  blood,  and 
where  shall  the  souls  of  those  empty  bodies  dwell 
which  rotted  under  the  sun  on  the  great  plains  of  the 
East?  The  Incomparable  Pharaoh  cast  out  the  word 
'surrender'  from  his  tongue.  Wilt  thou  restore  it  and 
use  it  first  in  this  short-lived  conflict  with  a  mongrel 
race  of  shepherds?  Nay,  if  thou  dost  give  over  now, 
it  shall  not  be  an  injustice  to  thee  if  it  come  to  pass  that 
thou  shalt  bow  to  a  brickmaker  as  thy  sovereign,  sacri- 
fice to  the  Immaterial  God  and  swear  by  the  beard  of 
Abraham !" 

Meneptah  winced  under  the  acrid  reproach  of  his 
son.  . 

"It  hath  ever  been  mine  intent  to  keep  the  Hebrews, 
but  I  would  not  act  unadvised,"  he  explained  apolo- 
getically. 

"Wherefore,  then,  these  frequent  consultations  with 
the  wolf  from  Midian?"  was  the  quick  retort.    "Thou 


398  THE   YOKE 

art  unskilled  in  the  ways  of  war,  my  father.  The  king 
who  would  conquer  treats  not  with  his  enemy.  Thou 
dost  risk  the  respect  of  thy  realm  for  thee.  Strengthen 
thy  fortifications  and  exhaust  the  cunning  of  thy  be- 
sieger. And  if  he  invade  thy  lines  again  with  insolence 
and  threats,  treat  him  to  the  sword  or  the  halter.  If 
thou  art  a  warrior,  prove  thy  deserts  to  the  name.  And 
if  Egypt  backs  thee  not  in  thy  stand  against  the 
Hebrew,  then  it  is  not  the  same  Egypt  that  followed 
Rameses  the  Great  to  glory !" 

The  king  put  up  his  hand. 

"Enough !    They  shall  not  go ;  they  shall  not  go !" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  CONSPIRACY 

One  morning  early  in  March  Seti  stood  beside  the 
parapet  on  the  palace  of  the  king  in  Tanis.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  shimmering  line  of  the  northern  level, 
but  he  did  not  see  it.  Some  one  came  with  silent  foot- 
fall and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

He  turned  and  looked  into  Ta-user's  eyes.  His  face 
softened  and  he  took  the  hand  between  his  own. 

"Alas !  this  day  thou  returnest  into  the  Hak-heb,"  he 
said. 

She  nodded.  "Would  I  could  take  thee  with  me,  but 
not  yet,  not  yet.  Wait  till  thou  art  a  little  older." 

He  sighed  and  looked  away  again.  "What  weighty 
things  absorb  my  prince?"  she  asked.  "What  especial 
labors  is  he  planning?" 

His  face  clouded.  "Dost  thou  mock  me,  Ta-user?" 
he  returned. 

"Hadst  thou  no  thought  at  all  ?"  she  persisted. 

"I  merely  pondered  on  mine  own  uselessness,"  he 
answered. 

"Fie !" 

"Nay,  even  thou  must  see  it.  I  live  on  my  father's 
bounty ;  I  accept  my  people's  homage ;  I  adore  the 
gods.  I  bear  no  arms ;  I  neither  prepare  to  reign  nor 
expect  to  serve.     I  am  a  thing  set  above  the  healthy 

399 


400  THE   YOKE 

labor  of  the  world  and  below  the  cares  of  the  exalted. 
I  am  nothing." 

"Fie!  I  say." 

Seti  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 

"Thou  hast  wealth,"  she  began  and  paused. 

"Wherein  doth  that  make  me  useful  ?" 

"Much  can  be  done  with  gold.  '  Is  there  none  in 
need?" 

"None  who  asks  has  been  denied.  Yet  what  right 
have  I  to  deal  alms  to  them  from  whom  my  riches 
come?  If  I  yielded  up  everything,  to  my  very  cloak, 
should  I  have  done  more  than  return  to  them  what  they 
have  given  me?  I  should  still  be  a  penniless  prince, 
more  useless  than  ever."  He  sat  down  on  the  broad 
lintel  capping  the  parapet,  but  retained  her  hand. 

"Ta-user,"  he  continued,  as  she  opened  her  lips  to 
speak,  "what  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ?" 

"I  would  have  thee  be  useful." 

"I  shall  throw  away  my  lordly  trappings,"  he  said, 
"and  become  a  lifter  of  the  shadoof  *  this  day." 

"Seti,"  she  said  sternly,  putting  his  hand  away, 
"with  thy  people  imperiled  by  the  sorcery  of  a  wizard, 
with  thy  realm  desolated  by  the  plagues  of  his  sending, 
canst  thou,  on  whom  I  have  built  so  much,  thus  lightly 
consider  thy  uses  and  ignore  the  things  set  at  thy  very 
hand  to  do?" 

The  prince  looked  at  her  with  not  a  little  discom- 
fiture showing  on  his  young  face.  But  the  interroga- 
tion was  emphatic,  and  she  awaited  an  answer. 

"I  have  no  weight  with  my  father,"  he  said  soberly. 

*Shadoof — a  pole  with  a  bucket  attached,  like  the  old  well- 
sweep,  used  by  rustics  to  dip  water  from  the  Nile. 


THE   CONSPIRACY  401 

"Thou  knowest  that  Egypt  will  never  have  peace  until 
the  Hebrews  depart.  But  I  can  not  persuade  my  father 
to  release  them  and  I  can  not  persuade  the  Israelite  to 
content  himself  to  stay.  Thou  dost  demand  much  of 
me  if  thou  dost  demand  of  me  the  impossible." 

As  much  of  contempt  as  it  was  wise  to  show  glim- 
mered in  her  eyes. 

"And  thou  art  at  thy  wits'  end  ?"  she  asked. 

"A  little  way  to  go.  Help  me,  Ta-user.  Bear  with 
me. 

She  moved  closer  to  him  and  absently  smoothed 
down  the  fine  locks,  disordered  by  the  wind.  Pres- 
ently she  lifted  his  face  and  said  with  sudden  impul- 
siveness : 

"Dost,  of  a  truth,  believe  everything  that  is  told 
thee?" 

"Am  I  over-credulous?"  he  asked. 

"Thou  art.  Thou  believest  this  Hebrew  to  be  hon- 
est in  his  show  of  interest  in  his  people  ?" 

"I  can  not  doubt  him,  Ta-user.  One  has  but  to  see 
him  to  be  convinced." 

"One  has  but  to  see  him  to  know  that  he  might  be 
coaxed  into  passiveness  with  that  for  which  an  Israel- 
ite would  sell  his  mummy — gold !" 

"Nay!  Nay!"  Seti  exclaimed.  "Thou  dost  wrong 
him!  He  is  the  soul  of  misdirected  zeal.  His  is  an 
earnestness  not  to  be  frightened  with  death  nor  abated 
with  bribes." 

She  laughed  a  cool  little  laugh. 

"Deliver  to  him  but  the  price  he  names,  and  the 
Israelitish  unrest  will  settle  like  a  swarm  of  smoked 
bees." 

"Ta-user,  it  is  thou  that  art  deceived,"  Seti  remon- 


402  THE  YOKE 

strated.  "Even  the  Pharaoh  does  not  hesitate  to  assert 
that  Mesu  is  terribly  upright.  Not  even  he  would 
dream  of  offering  the  wizard  Hebrew  a  peace-trib- 
ute." 

Once  again  she  laughed.  "Mind  me,  I  speak  rever- 
ently of  the  divine  Meneptah,  the  Shedder  of  Light, 
but  I  do  not  marvel  that  he  is  no  more  willing  to  deliver 
over  to  Mesu  one  color  of  gold  than  another." 

Seti  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  expression.  Gaz- 
ing down  into  his  eyes,  she  said  with  sudden  solem- 
nity: 

"My  Prince,  may  I  give  my  life  into  thy  hands?" 

Impulsively  he  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"The  gods  overtake  me  with  their  vengeance  if  I 
guard  it  not,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  drew  him  from  his  place  on  the  parapet  and  led 
him  to  a  seat  in  a  corner  near  the  double  towers. 
There  she  sat,  and  he  dropped  down  at  her  feet.  He 
crossed  his  arms  over  her  lap  and  lifted  his  face  to  her. 
For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  contemplating  the  young 
countenance.  What  were  the  thoughts  that  came  to 
her  then?  Did  she  applaud  or  rebuke  herself?  Did 
she  pity  or  despise  him  ? 

Is  there  more  of  evil  than  of  good  wrought  by  the 
mind  working  silently? 

Seti  was  ripe  to  be  plucked  by  treachery.  His  was 
the  faith  that  is  insulted  by  a  suggestion  of  wari- 
ness. 

"While  I  dwelt  obscurely  in  the  Hak-heb,"  she  be- 
gan, "I  was  much  among  the  partizans  of  Amon- 
meses.  They  are  friends  of  the  Pharaoh  now,  so  what 
I  tell  is  dead  sedition.  But  I  heard  it  when  it  lived, 
and  thou  knowest  the  penalty  invited  by  him  who 


THE   CONSPIRACY  403 

listens  to  criticism  of  the  king.  Attend  me,  then,  for 
the  story  is  short. 

"The  history  of  Mesu  is  an  old  tale  to  thee.  Thy 
noble  grandsire's  first  queen,  Neferari  Thermuthis, 
adopted  the  Hebrew,  and  when  she  died  he  shared  in 
the  allotment  of  her  treasure.  But  Mesu  was  an  exile 
in  Midian  at  the  time,  and  his  share  was  left  with 
Shaemus,  then  the  heir,  to  be  given  over  to  the  foster- 
son  when  he  should  return.  But  Shaemus  died,  and 
all  thy  father's  older  brothers,  so  the  gracious  Menep- 
tah  came  to  wear  the  crown.  To  him  fell  the  guardian- 
ship of  the  Hebrew's  treasure  till  what  time  he  should 
return  out  of  Midian.  Mesu  hath  returned.  Hath  thy 
father  delivered  to  him  his  inheritance?" 

Seti's  face  flamed,  but,  before  he  could  speak,  she 
went  on.  "Not  so ;  not  one  copper  weight.  It  lies  un- 
touched in  the  treasury.  Thine  august  sire  does  not 
use  it,  because  he  hath  wealth  more  than  he  can  spend. 
But  it  is  the  Hebrew's,  and  if  it  were  delivered  into 
his  hands  it  would  redeem  Egypt.  I  know  it.  There, 
it  is  done.    My  life  is  in  thy  hands." 

The  prince  looked  at  her  with  wide  eyes,  his  cheeks 
flushed,  his  lips  silent. 

"Wouldst  thou  have  proof?"  she  continued  reck- 
lessly. "Seek  out  Hotep,  who  hath  been  keeper  of  the 
records  at  Pithom  and  ask  him." 

"Did  he  tell  thee  ?"  Seti  demanded. 

"Nay;  I  learned  it  from  another  source,  not  in  the 
palace."  The  prince  lapsed  into  silence,  his  eyes  avert- 
ed. Ta-user  regarded  him  intently.  Suddenly  he 
raised  his  head. 

"Dost  thou  know  the  amount  of  his  share?"  he 
asked. 


4<H  THE   YOKE 

"It  is  but  a  moderate  part  of  the  queen's  fortune, 
since  each  of  the  king's  children  by  his  many  women 
was  included." 

Seti  winced,  for  there  was  something  dimly  offensive 
in  the  calm  way  she  stated  the  bald  fact. 

"It  is  not  much,  as  princely  dowers  go,"  she  added 
casually. 

"He  shall  have  it,"  Seti  said  almost  impatiently. 
"Out  of  mine  own  wealth  he  shall  have  it — not  as  a 
bribe — he  would  not  have  it  so — but  because  it  is 
his." 

She  caught  his  hands  to  her  breast  and  cried  out  in 
delight. 

"And  I  shall  be  thy  lieutenant,  and  none  shall  know 
of  it,  save  thee  and  me." 

He  smiled  up  at  her. 

"Nay,  there  is  danger  in  this,"  he  said  gently,  "and 
I  would  not  imperil  thee.  Already  thou  hast  over- 
stepped safety  for  Egypt's  sake  and  mine.  More  than 
this  I  will  not  let  thee  do." 

An  expression  of  panic  swept  over  her  face.  He  in- 
terpreted it  as  hurt. 

"Thou  hast  been  my  guide  for  so  long,  Ta-user. 
Let  me  choose  this  once  for  thee." 

She  pouted,  and  putting  him  away  from  her,  arose 
and  left  him.    He  followed  her  and  took  her  hands. 

"A  confederate  thou  must  have,"  she  complained; 
"and  whom  dost  thou  trust  more  than  Ta-user?" 

"It  is  not  a  matter  of  trust,"  he  explained,  "but  of 
thine  immunity  should  the  Hathors  frown  upon  my 
plan." 

"It  matters  not,"  she  protested.  "Whom  wilt  thou 
trust  and  imperil  instead  of  Ta-user?" 


THE   CONSPIRACY     ■  405 

"Thou  dost  hurry  me  in  my  plan-making,"  he 
remonstrated  mildly.  "Mayhap  I  shall  choose  Ho- 
tep." 

She  flung  up  her  head,  her  face  the  picture  of  dis- 
may. 

"Nay,  nay !  not  Hotep !  Of  all  thy  world,  not  Ho- 
tep !"  she  exclaimed. 

He  lifted  his  brows  in  amazement. 

"Surely  thou  dost  not  question  his  fidelity — his 
power  ?" 

"Nay!  but  dost  thou  not  guess  what  he  will  do? 
Thou  child!  Abet  thee!  Nay!  he  would  set  his  foot 
upon  thy  plan  and  foil  thee  at  once  with  his  politic 
hand." 

"Hotep  will  obey  as  I  command ;  that  thou  knowest," 
he  said  with  dignity. 

"Thou  wilt  not  reach  the  point  of  command  with 
him,"  she  vehemently  insisted.  "He  would  catch  thine 
intent  ere  thou  hadst  stated  it  and  would  make  thee 
aghast  at  thyself  in  a  twinkling  by  his  smooth  reason- 
ing and  vivid  auguries.  Nay,  if  thou  art  to  have  thy 
way  in  this,  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  We  are  as  good  as 
undone." 

She  turned  away  from  him,  but  he  followed  her  con- 
tritely. 

"I  submit,"  he  said  helplessly.  "Advise  me,  but  I — 
nay,  ask  me  not  to  endanger  thee,  Ta-user." 

She  shook  her  head  and  moved  on.  He  advanced  a 
step  or  two  after  her,  stopped,  and  wheeling  about,  re- 
sumed his  place  at  the  parapet. 

After  a  little  pause  she  was  beside  him  again. 

"Shall  we  forego  this  thing?"  she  asked. 

"Nay,"  he  answered  quietly.    "I  can  achieve  it  with- 


406  THE  YOKE 

out  help."  She  drew  a  breath  as  if  to  speak  but  held 
her  peace.  They  stood  in  silence  side  by  side  for  a 
while. 

Presently  she  slipped  between  him  and  the  parapet. 

"Hast  thou  not  called  me  wise  in  thy  time?"  she 
asked.    "I  believed  thee,  then." 

"I  told  thee  a  truth,  but  I  might  have  added  that 
thou  art  over-brave,"  he  said,  catching  her  drift. 

"Listen,  then,  to  me.  Thou,  in  thy  young  credulity, 
seest  in  this  only  justice  to  an  enemy.  I,  in  the  wisdom 
of  riper  years  and  the  discernment  bred  of  experience 
with  knaves,  see  in  it  the  redemption  of  Egypt.  If  the 
heaviest  penalty  overtook  us  is  it  not  a  result  worth 
achieving  at  any  cost  ?  Seti,  believe  me ;  grant  me  my 
belief !  It  is  the  one  hope  of  thy  father's  kingdom. 
Shall  it  fail  because  thou  wast  envious  for  my  safety 
above  Egypt's?  I  can  aid  thee  to  success.  That  thou 
hast  said.  If  thou  failest,  though  thou  dost  attempt  it 
alone,  dost  thou  dream  that  I  could  see  thee  punished 
without  crying  out,  Tt  was  I  who  urged  him !'  If 
thou  art  undone,  likewise  am  I.  If  thou  art  to  succeed, 
wilt  thou  selfishly  keep  thy  success  to  thyself?" 

She  slipped  her  arm  about  his  neck  and  pressed  close 
to  him. 

"Nay,  Seti,  thou  dost  overestimate  the  peril.  The 
Hebrew  will  not  betray  us,  and  who  else  will  know  of 
it?  I  shall  make  a  journey  into  Goshen,  find  Mesu 
and  bid  him  meet  thee  at  a  certain  place.  There  thou 
shalt  come  at  a  certain  time  with  the  treasure,  and  the 
feat  is  done.  But  if  we  fail — "  she  flung  her  head  back 
and  bewitched  him  with  a  heavy  eye — "will  it  be  hard 
for  me  to  persuade  the  king?" 

Seti  contemplated  her  with  bewilderment  in  his  face. 


THE   CONSPIRACY    -  407 

The  youth  and  innocence  in  his  young  soul  revolted, 
but  there  was  another  element  that  yielded  and  was 
pleased. 

"Have  it  thy  way,  Ta-user,"  he  said,  with  hesitation 
in  his  words,  while  he  continued  to  gaze  helplessly  into 
her  compelling  eyes. 

She  laughed  and  kissed  him.  "I  will  see  thee  again 
soon."  Putting  him  back  from  her,  she  descended  the 
stairway. 

In  the  shadow  at  the  foot  she  came  upon  two  fig- 
ures, walking  close  together,  the  taller  of  the  two 
bending  over  the  smaller.  The  pair  started  apart  at 
sight  of  the  princess. 

"A  blessing  on  thy  content,  Ta-meri,"  the  princess 
said.  "And  upon  thine,  Nechutes." 

The  cup-bearer  bowed  and  rumbled  his  appreciation 
of  her  courtesy. 

"Dost  thou  leave  us,  Ta-user  ?"  his  wife  asked. 

"Aye,  I  return  to  the  Hak-heb.  O,  I  am  glad  to  go. 
Would  I  could  leave  the  same  quiet  here  in  Tanis  that 
I  hope  to  find  in  Nehapehu." 

"Aye,  I  would  thou  couldst.  But  is  it  not  true,  my 
Princess,  that  one  may  make  his  own  content  even  in 
the  sorriest  surroundings?"  Nechutes  asked. 

"For  himself,  even  so.  But  the  very  making  of  one's 
selfish  content  may  work  havoc  with  the  peace  of  an- 
other.   That  I  have  seen." 

"Aye,"  Nechutes  responded  uncomfortably,  wonder- 
ing if  the  princess  meant  to  confess  her  disappointment 
to  them. 

"It  makes  me  quarrel  at  the  Hathors.  The  most  of 
us  deserve  the  ills  that  overtake  us.  But  he — alas — 
none  but  the  good  could  sing  as  he  sang !" 


4o8  THE   YOKE 

The  cup-bearer  dropped  his  indifference  immedi- 
ately. 

"Ha !  Whom  dost  thou  mean  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh!"  the  princess  exclaimed.  "Perchance  I  give 
thee  news." 

"If  thou  meanest  Kenkenes,  indeed  thou  dost  give 
us  news.  What  of  him?  We  know  that  he  is  dead. 
Is  there  anything  further  ?" 

"Of  a  truth,  dost  thou  not  know  ?  Nay,  then,  far  be 
it  from  me  to  tell  thee — anything."  She  passed  round 
them  and  started  to  go  on.  In  a  few  paces,  Nechutes 
overtook  her. 

"Give  us  thy  meaning,  Ta-user,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"Kenkenes  was  near  to  me — to  Ta-meri.  What  know- 
est  thou  ?" 

"The  court  buzzes  with  it.  Strange  indeed  that  ye 
heard  it  not.  It  is  said,  and  of  a  truth  well-nigh 
proved,  that  the  heart  of  the  singer  broke  when  Ta- 
meri  chose  thee,  Nechutes,  and  that — that  the  disas- 
ter which  befell  him  may  have  been  sought." 

Nechutes  seized  her  arm,  and  Ta-meri  cried  out. 

"He  sent  Ta-meri  to  me,"  the  cup-bearer  said  wrath- 
fully.    "Thy  news  is — " 

"Alas !  Nechutes,"  the  princess  said  sorrowfully,  "it 
was  sacrifice.  He  knew  that  Ta-meri  loved  thee  and 
he  nobly  surrendered,  but  was  the  hurt  any  less  be- 
cause he  submitted  ?" 

Nechutes  released  her  and  turned  away.  Ta-meri 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  followed  him. 
He  did  not  pause  for  her,  and  she  had  to  hasten  her 
steps  to  keep  up  with  him.  The  princess  looked  after 
them  for  a  space  and  went  on. 

Straight   through   the   corridors   toward   the   royal 


THE   CONSPIRACY     .  409 

apartments  she  went.  Her  copper  eyes  had  taken  on 
a  luminousness  that  was  visible  in  the  dark.  There 
was  an  elasticity  in  her  step  that  spoke  of  exultation. 

The  Hathors  were  indulging  her  beyond  reason. 

A  soldier  of  the  royal  guard  paced  outside  the  door- 
way of  the  king's  apartments.  Ta-user  flung  him  a 
smile  and,  passing  him  without  a  word  of  leave-ask- 
ing, smiled  again  and  disappeared  through  the  door. 

Meneptah,  who  sat  alone,  raised  his  head  from  the 
scroll  he  was  laboriously  spelling.  If  he  had  meant  to 
resent  the  intrusion,  the  impulse  died  within  him  at 
the  charming  obeisance  the  princess  made. 

As  she  rose  at  his  sign,  Har-hat  entered.  Ta-user 
came  near  to  the  king,  smiling  triumphantly  at  the 
fan-bearer. 

"The  gods  sped  my  feet,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  here 
first.  Hold  thy  peace,  noble  Har-hat.  Mine  is  the 
first  audience." 

Having  reached  the  king's  side,  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  and  folded  her  hands  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"A  boon,  O  Shedder  of  Light!  So  much  thou 
owest  me.  Behold,  I  came  to  thee  on  the  hope  of  thy 
promises.  What  have  I  won  therefrom  ?  Naught  save, 
perchance,  the  smiles  of  Egypt  at  my  disappointment." 

Meneptah's  face  flushed. 

"Say  on,  O  my  kinswoman,"  he  said,  moving  un- 
comfortably. 

"Kinswoman !  And  a  year  agone,  I  thought  to  hear, 
'O  my  daughter.'  " 

The  color  in  the  king's  face  deepened. 

"Wilt  thou  reproach  me,  Ta-user,  for  my  son's  wil- 
fulness ?"  was  his  tactless  reply. 


410  THE  YOKE 

Ta-user  shot  an  amused  glance  at  the  discomfited 
countenance  of  Har-hat  and  went  on. 

"Nay,  O  my  Sovereign.  I  do  but  wish  to  incline 
thine  ear  to  me.  Say  first  thou  wilt  grant  me  my 
boon." 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  but  she  drew  nearer 
and  lifted  her  face  to  his. 

"I  do  not  ask  for  thy  crown,  or  thy  son,  or  for  an 
army,  or  treasure,  or  anything  but  that  which  thou 
wouldst  gladly  give  me,  because  of  thy  just  and  gen- 
erous heart." 

The  doubt  faded  out  of  his  face. 

"Thou  hast  my  word,  Ta-user." 

"And  for  that  I  thank  thee."  She  bent  her  head 
and  touched  her  lips  to  the  hand  lying  nearest  her. 

"Give  me  ear,  then,"  she  continued.  "Thou  hast 
among  thy  ministers  a  noble  genius,  the  murket, 
Mentu — " 

The  king  broke  in  with  a  dry  smile.  "Wouldst  have 
him  for  a  mate  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  till  the  emeralds  pendent  from 
the  fillet  on  her  forehead  clinked  together.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  childlike  than  the  pleased  smile 
on  her  face. 

"Nay,  nay,  he  would  not  have  me,"  she  protested. 
"But  he  hath  a  son." 

Har-hat  moved  forward  a  pace.  She  noted  the 
movement  and  playfully  waved  him  back.  "Encroach 
not.  This  hour  is  mine."  Har-hat's  face  wore  a 
dubious  smile. 

"He  hath  a  son,"  she  repeated. 

"He  had  a  son,  but  he  is  dead,"  the  king  answered. 


THE   CONSPIRACY  411 

"Not  so !  He  is  in  prison  where  thy  counselor,  the 
wicked,  unfeeling,  jealous,  rapacious  Har-hat  hath  en- 
tombed him !" 

Har-hat  sprang  forward  as  the  king  lifted  an  amazed 
and  angry  face. 

"Back!"  she  cried,  motioning  at  him  with  her  full 
arm.  "It  is  time  the  Hathors  overtook  thee,  thou  in- 
effable knave!" 

"I  protest!"  the  fan-bearer  cried,  losing  his  tem- 
per. 

"Enough  of  this  play,"  Meneptah  said  sternly.  "Go 
on  with  thy  tale,  Ta-user.  I  would  know  the  truth  of 
this." 

"Thou  wilt  not  learn  it  from  the  princess,"  Har-hat 
exclaimed. 

"Ah !"  Ta-user  ejaculated,  a  world  of  innocence,  sur- 
prise and  wounded  feeling  in  the  word. 

"Thy  words  do  not  become  thee,  Har-hat,"  Menep- 
tah said.  The  fan-bearer  closed  his  lips  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  the  princess. 

She  drooped  her  head  and  went  on  in  a  voice  low 
with  hurt. 

"The  gods  judge  me  if  my  every  word  is  not  true ! 
Har-hat  imprisoned  him  because  the  gallant  young 
man  loved  the  maiden  whom  Har-hat  would  have  taken 
for  his  harem." 

Meneptah's  face  blazed.    "Go  on,"  he  said  sharply. 

"The  fan-bearer  had  some  little  right  on  his  side,  for 
the  young  man  had  committed  sacrilege  in  carving  a 
statue,  and  had  stolen  the  maiden  away  and  hidden  her 
when  Har-hat  would  have  taken  her.  The  maiden  is 
an  Israelite,  and  her  hiding-place  is  known  to  this  day 


412  THE  YOKE 

only  by  herself  and  her  unhappy  lover.  Now  comes 
thy  villainy,  O  thou  short  of  temper,"  she  continued, 
looking  at  the  fan-bearer. 

"Thy  father,  O  Shedder  of  Light,  the  Incomparable 
Pharaoh  who  reigns  in  Osiris,  gave  Mentu  a  signet — " 

The  king  interrupted.    "I  know  of  that.    Go  on." 

"When  Kenkenes  was  overtaken  and  thrust  into 
prison  he  sent  this  signet  to  thee,  O  my  Sovereign, 
with  a  petition  for  his  release  and  for  the  maiden's 
freedom.  The  writing  and  the  signet  came  into  Har- 
hat's  hands  and  he  ignored  them,  though  the  signet 
commanded  him  in  the  name  of  the  holy  One."  Her 
voice  lowered  with  awe  and  dismay  at  his  unregen- 
eracy.    "Kenkenes  is  still  in  prison." 

"Now,  by  the  gods,  Har-hat !"  Meneptah  exclaimed 
angrily.  "I  would  not  have  dreamed  such  baseness 
in  thee !" 

The  fan-bearer  was  stupefied  with  wrath  and  as- 
tonishment. Words  absolutely  refused  to  come  to  him. 
Ta-user  accused  him  with  the  wide  eyes  of  fearl::s 
righteousness.     Presently  she  went  on : 

"Already  hath  he  languished  eight  months  in  prison. 
His  offense  against  the  gods  and  against  the  laws  of 
the  land  hath  been  expiated.  I  would  have  thee  set 
him  free  now,  O  Meneptah,  that  he  may  return  to  his 
love  and  comfort  her." 

Meneptah  reached  for  the  reed  pen. 

"Hold !"  cried  Har-hat. 

"Thou  dost  forget  thyself,  good  Har-hat,"  the 
princess  said  with  dignity.  "Thou  speakest  with  thy 
sovereign." 

"But  I  will  be  heard !"  he  exclaimed  violently. 
"Hear  me !  I  pray  thee,  Son  of  Ptah !" 


THE   CONSPIRACY     ■  413 

Meneptah  removed  the  wetted  pen  and  waited. 

"Thou  didst  give  the  maiden  to  me  thyself !"  he  be- 
gan precipitately.  "Thy  document  of  gift  I  have  yet. 
He  stole  her,  hid  her  away,  committed  sacrilege  and 
abused  two  of  my  servants  nigh  unto  death  when  they 
sought  for  her.  Hath  he  any  more  right  to  her  than 
I?  Art  thou  assured  that  he  hath  an  honorable  pur- 
pose in  mind  for  her?  She  is  comely  and  well  in- 
structed in  service,  and  I  would  have  put  her  in  my 
daughter's  train,  even  as  the  Hebrew  Miriam  was  lady- 
in-waiting  to  Neferari  Thermuthis.  If  thou  dost  ex- 
amine the  records  of  the  petitions  to  thee  thou  wilt 
find  that  I  asked  her  expressly  for  household  service. 
It  is  false  that  I  had  any  other  purpose  in  mind. 

"As  to  the  signet,"  he  continued  breathlessly,  "there 
is  no  word  upon  it  concerning  the  palliation  of  a  triple 
crime!  Shall  we  invoke  the  king  in  the  blameless 
name  of  the  holy  One,  and  demand  forgiveness  in  the 
name  of  Him  who  forgiveth  no  sin?  Furthermore, 
thou  didst  give  the  writing  into  my  hands,  and  in  obe- 
dience to  thy  command,  I  acted  as  I  thought  best.  My 
purposes  have  been  wilfully  distorted!" 

Meneptah  frowned  with  perplexity.  But  while  he 
pondered,  Ta-user  drew  near  to  him  and  said  to  him 
very  softly : 

"If  his  words  be  true,  O  my  Sovereign,  one  lovely 
Israelite  is  as  serviceable  as  another.  The  young  man 
loves  this  maiden.  Doubt  it  not !  He  is  a  worthy  off- 
spring of  that  noble  sire,  Mentu.  If  he  offended,  he 
hath  suffered  sufficiently.    Let  him  go,  I  pray  thee." 

"It  is  my  word  against  her  surmises,  O  Meneptah," 
Har-hat  insisted. 

The  king  frowned  more  and  stroked  his  cheek. 


4H  THE   YOKE 

"Thine  anger  should  be  abated  by  this  time,  Har- 
hat,"  he  said  feebly. 

"His  rebellion  is  not  yet  broken.  I  have  not  the 
slave  yet,"  the  fan-bearer  retorted. 

"Mayhap  he  is  ready  to  surrender  her  now." 

"Not  so!"  the  princess  put  in.  "He  hath  endured 
eight  months.  If  it  were  eight  hundred  years  his  si- 
lence would  be  the  same.  It  is  proof  of  my  boast  that 
he  loves  her.  No  man  who  would  comfort  his  flesh 
alone  would  suffer  such  lengths  of  mortification  of 
flesh !  Let  him  go,  my  King,  and  give  the  clean-souled 
fan-bearer  another  Israelite  for  his  daughter." 

"Why  earnest  thou  not  sooner  with  this  to  the  king  ?" 
Har-hat  demanded. 

"I  have  but  this  moment  learned  of  it,  and  I  could 
not  leave  the  court  without  one  last  act  for  the  good 
of  the  oppressed,"  she  replied. 

"Have  it  thy  way,  Ta-user.  Come  to  me  in  an  hour," 
Meneptah  began. 

"Nay,  write  it  now." 

"Thou  art  insistent." 

"Thou  didst  promise,"  she  whispered,  her  face  so 
close  to  his  that  the  light  from  the  facets  of  her  emer- 
alds turned  on  his  cheek. 

He  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote. 

"Now  promise  that  the  signet  shall  go  back  to 
Mentu,"  she  continued. 

"As  thou  wilt,  Ta-user,"  the  king  replied. 

She  caught  up  the  roll,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and 
then  kissed  his  cheek  deliberately  and  was  gone. 

A  moment  later  Har-hat  overtook  her  in  the  hall. 

"Hyena!"  he  exclaimed.    "What  is  thy  game?" 

She  laughed  and  shook  the  scroll  in  his  face. 


THE   CONSPIRACY     .  415 

"It  is  my  turn  at  the  pawns  now.  Thou  didst  play 
between  me  and  the  crown.  Now  I  shall  harass  thee 
for  the  joy  of  it.  Thinkest  thou  I  cared  aught  for  the 
dreamer  and  his  loves  ?  Bah !  I  heard  this  tale  eight 
months  agone  while  I  had  naught  to  do  but  eavesdrop. 
Nay,  it  was  but  my  one  chance  to  vex  thee." 

Again  she  laughed  and  ran  away  to  the  queen's 
apartments. 

"I  am  come  to  bid  thee  farewell,"  she  said,  kneeling 
before  the  pale  little  woman  who  loved  the  king.  The 
princess  put  up  her  face  to  be  kissed. 

"Not  my  lips !"  she  cried  warningly.  "They  yet 
tingle  with  the  kiss  of  Meneptah,  thy  husband.  I 
would  not  have  the  ecstasy  spoiled  by  another's  touch." 

The  queen  flushed  and  kissed  the  cheek. 

"Farewell,  and  peace  go  with  thee,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  princess  retained  her  composure  until  she  re- 
entered the  hall.  There  she  flung  her  arms  above  her 
head  and  laughed  silently. 

"Of  a  truth,  I  take  peace  with  me,  and  I  leave  dis- 
cord behind !" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

rachel's  refuge 

Rachel  stood  by  the  parapet  on  the  top  of  the  Mem- 
phian  house  of  Har-hat.  About  her  were  no  evidences 
of  her  former  serfdom.  She  wore  an  ample  robe  of 
white  linen,  with  blue  selvages  heavily  fringed.  About 
her  neck  was  the  collar  of  gold.  The  costume  was 
distinctly  Israelitish,  elaborated  somewhat  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Masanath,  to  whom  Rachel's  golden  beauty 
was  a  never-lessening  wonder.  Compared  to  the  tiny 
gorgeous  lady,  Rachel  was  as  a  tall  lily  to  a  mimosa. 

Masanath  was  comfortably  pillowed  on  cushions, 
close  to  the  Israelite.  The  rose-leaf  flush  on  her  little 
face  was  subdued  and  her  dark  eyes  were  larger  than 
usual.  The  physical  discomforts  of  the  plagues  had 
overtaken  her;  and  Rachel,  the  only  one  of  all  the 
household  who  had  passed  unscathed  through  the 
troublous  time,  had  been  so  tender  a  nurse  that  Masa- 
nath recovered  with  reluctance. 

This  was  the  Egyptian's  first  day  on  the  housetop, 
and  she  was  not  happy.  The  great  pots  of  glazed 
earthenware,  each  a  small  garden  in  size,  were  filled 
with  baked  earth.  The  locusts  had  taken  her  flowers. 
In  the  park  below  the  grass  was  gone  and  the  palm 
trees  were  shadowless.  Her  chariot  horses  had  died 
in  the  stables ;  her  pets  had  drooped  and  perished ;  her 
birds  were  missing  one  morning,  and  Rachel  said  they 

416 


RACHEL'S   REFUGE  ,  417 

had  flown  to  Goshen,  where  there  were  grain  and 
grasses.  Furthermore,  the  year  of  freedom  had  al- 
most expired  and  she  began  to  anticipate  sorrowfully. 

The  period  of  the  Israelite's  residence  with  Masa- 
nath  had  been  uneventful  save  for  those  grim,  momen- 
tous days  of  plague  and  loss.  Deborah  had  survived 
the  removal  to  comfort  in  Memphis  only  a  month. 
The  brutal  injuries  inflicted  by  the  servants  of 
Har-hat  had  been  too  severe  for  her  age-enfeebled 
frame  to  repair.  So  she  died,  blessing  the  two  young 
girls  who  had  attended  her,  and  promising  peace  and 
happiness  to  come.  Then  they  laid  her  in  a  new  tomb 
cut  in  the  rock  face  of  the  Libyan  hills  and  wrote  on 
her  sarcophagus : 

"She  departed  out  of  the  land  of  Mizraim  before  her 
people." 

And  this  was  prophecy. 

Thus  was  Rachel  left,  but  for  Masanath,  entirely 
alone.  None  of  the  afflictions  had  overtaken  her.  A 
mysterious  Providence  shielded  her.  Anubis,  which  she 
formally  claimed  as  hers,  was  the  only  one  of  the  nu- 
merous dumb  dwellers  in  the  fan-bearer's  house  that 
had  escaped.  And  of  him  there  is  something  to  be 
told. 

Shortly  after  the  arrival  of  the  Israelites  in  Mem- 
phis, Anubis  disappeared  for  days. 

"He  is  gone  to  visit  the  murket,"  Masanath  ex- 
plained. 

One  noon  Rachel,  resting  on  the  housetop  with  her 
hostess,  saw  him  leisurely  returning,  by  starts  of  in- 
terest and  recollection.  Behind  him,  walking  cautious- 
ly, was  a  man. 


418  THE  [YOKE 

"Anubis  returneth,"  Rachel  said,  sitting  up. 

Masanath  raised  herself  and  looked. 

"Imhotep*  plagues  mine  eyes,  or  that  is  the  murket 
following  him,"  she  exclaimed. 

Immediately  Rachel  began  to»  tremble  and,  sinking 
back  on  her  cushions,  hid  her  face.  Masanath  contin- 
ued to  watch  the  approaching  man. 

"If  he  comes  shall  I  send  for  thee?"  she  asked  in  a 
half-whisper. 

The  Israelite  shook  her  head.  "Only  if  he  asks  for 
me,"  she  answered. 

"A  pest  on  the  creature !"  Masanath  exclaimed  im- 
patiently after  a  little  silence.  "He  is  torturing  the 
man!     Hath  he  forgot  the  place?" 

She  leaned  over  the  parapet  and  called  the  ape.  The 
murket  looked  up. 

"Anubis  is  my  guest,  noble  Mentu,"  she  replied. 
"Wilt  thou  not  come  up  with  him  ?" 

The  murket  looked  at  her  a  moment  before  he  an- 
swered. 

"Nay,  I  thank  thee,  my  Lady.  I  left  the  noonday 
meal  that  I  might  be  led  at  the  creature's  will.  He  is 
restless  since  my  son  is  gone." 

Every  word  of  the  murket's  fell  plainly  on  Rachel's 
ears.  The  tones  were  those  of  Kenkenes,  grown  older. 
The  statement  came  to  her  as  a  call  upon  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  young  artist's  whereabouts. 

"Tell  him — tell  him — "  she  whispered  desperately. 

"What  ?"  asked  Masanath,  turning  about. 

"Tell  him  where  Kenkenes  went !" 

The  Egyptian  leaned  over  the  parapet.     "Fie !  he  is 

♦Imhotep — The  physician-god. 


RACHEL'S    REFUGE  419 

gone  !"  she  said.  "Nay,  but  I  shall  catch  him ;"  and  fly- 
ing down  through  the  house,  out  into  the  narrow  pas- 
sage, she  overtook  the  murket. 

This  is  what  she  told  Rachel  when  she  returned : 

"I  said  to  him :  'My  Lord,  I  know  where  Kenkenes 
went.'  And  he  said :  'Of  a  truth  ?'  in  the  calmest  way. 
'Aye,'  said  I.  'It  hath  come  to  mine  ears  that  he  went 
to  Tape.'  'That  have  I  known  for  long,'  he  answered, 
after  he  had  looked  at  me  till  I  wished  I  were  away. 
'That  have  I  known  for  long,  and  why  he  went  and 
why  he  came  not  back,'  and  having  said,  he  smoothed 
my  hair  and  told  me  I  was  not  much  like  my  father, 
and  departed  without  another  word.  To  my  mind  he 
hath  conducted  himself  most  strangely.  I  doubt  not  he 
knows  more  than  you  or  I,  Rachel." 

To  Masanath's  dismay  the  Israelite  flung  herself 
face  down  on  the  rugs  and  wept.  "He  is  not  dead; 
he  is  not  dead,"  she  cried. 

The  collapse  of  a  composure  so  strong  and  bridled 
filled  Masanath  with  consternation.  Had  Rachel's 
spirit  been  of  weaker  fiber  the  Egyptian's  own  forceful 
individuality  would  have  longed  to  sustain  it,  but  when 
it  broke  in  its  strength  she  knew  that  here  was  a  stress 
of  emotion  too  deep  for  her  to  soothe. 

"Then  if  he  is  not  dead,"  she  said,  searching  for 
something  to  say,  "why  weepest  thou  ?" 

"Alas !  seest  thou  not,  Masanath  ?  He  hath  not  re- 
turned to  me ;  his  father  knows  his  story,  and  if  he  be 
not  dead  how  shall  I  explain  his  absence  save  that  he 
hath  forgotten  or  repented  ?" 

"Not  so!"  Masanath  declared.  "He  is  the  soul  of 
honor,  and  there  is  a  mystery  in  this  that  the  gods  may 
explain  in  time.    Comfort  thee,  Rachel,  for  there  stir- 


420  THE   YOKE 

reth  a  hope  in  me."  Then  with  the  utmost  tact  she  told 
the  story  of  the  finding  of  Kenkenes'  boat  and  the 
theory  accepted  in  Memphis. 

"I  can  offer  thee  hope,"  she  concluded,  "but  I  can 
not  even  guess  what  should  keep  him  so  long.  Of  this 
be  assured,  however,  he  did  not  desert  thee,  Rachel." 

Enigmatical  as  it  was,  the  incident  was  comforting 
to  Rachel. 

So  the  Nile  rose  and  subsided,  the  winter  came  and 
went,  and  now  it  was  near  the  middle  of  March.  Ma- 
sanath  forgot  Kenkenes  and  remembered  her  own  sor- 
row now  that  its  consummation  was  surely  approach- 
ing. During  the  hours  that  darkened  gradually  Rachel 
was  to  her  an  ever-responsive  comforter.  Even  in  the 
dead  of  night,  if  the  weight  of  her  care  burdened  her 
dreams  so  that  she  stirred  or  murmured,  she  was  in- 
stantly soothed  till  she  slept  again.  Usually  the  day 
did  not  harass  her  with  oppression,  but  if  she  grew  sud- 
denly afraid,  Rachel  was  at  her  side  to  comfort  her — 
never  urging,  either  to  rebellion  or  submission,  but 
ever  offering  hope. 

So  the  little  Egyptian  came  to  love  the  Israelite  with 
the  love  that  demands  rather  than  gives — the  love  of 
a  child  for  the  mother,  of  the  benefited  for  the  bene- 
factor. Gradually  Rachel  lost  sight  of  her  own  trouble 
in  her  devotion  to  Masanath.  She  had  no  time  for  her 
own  thoughts.  Each  passing  day  brought  the  Egyp- 
tian's martyrdom  nearer,  and  Rachel's  uses  hourly  in- 
creased. 

This  day  Masanath,  who  had  been  ill,  was  unusually 
downcast. 

"It  may  be,"  she  said  with  more  cheer  in  her  tones 


RACHEL'S   REFUGE  421 

than  had  been  in  her  previous  remarks,  "that  I  shall 
die  before  they  can  wed  me  to  Rameses." 

"Nay,  why  not  say  that  the  Lord  God  will  interfere 
before  that  time  ?" 

"Evil  and  power  have  joined  hands  against  me,  and 
even  the  gods  are  helpless  against  such  collusion,"  Ma- 
sanath  answered  drearily. 

"The  sorrows  of  Egypt  are  not  yet  at  an  end ;  may- 
hap the  hand  of  the  God  of  Israel  will  overtake  the 
prince." 

"Thy  God  is  afflicting,  not  helping ;  He  will  not  spare 
me." 

"The  hand  of  the  Lord  is  lifted  against  Egypt.  Will 
He  bless  the  land,  then,  with  such  a  queen  as  thou 
wouldst  be?" 

"Nay,  but  thine  is  a  strange  God!  Mark  thou,  I 
doubt  Him  not !  But  ai !  I  should  face  Him  for  ever  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  lest  He  smite  me  for  smiling  and 
living  my  life  without  care." 

"Hath  an  ill  befallen  Israel?" 

"If  thou  art  Israel,  nay!  Thou  hast  flourished  in 
this  dread  time  like  a  palm  by  a  deep  well." 

"So  he  prospereth  all  his  chosen." 

Masanath  shook  her  head  and  looked  away.  From 
the  stairway  Nari  approached. 

"Unas  hath  come  from  Tanis,  my  Lady,"  she  said 
with  suppressed  excitement.  Masanath  sat  up,  trem- 
bling. 

"Isis  grant  he  hath  not  come  to  take  thee  to  mar- 
riage," the  waiting  woman  breathed.  Rachel  laid  an 
inquiring  hand  on  the  little  Egyptian's  arm. 

"My  father's  courier,"  she  explained.  "Let  him  come 


422  THE   YOKE 

up,"  she  continued  to  Nari.  The  waiting  woman 
bowed  and  left  her. 

Rachel  arose  and  took  a  place  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  hypostyle,  with  the  screens  of  matting  between  her 
and  Masanath.    She  was  still  in  hiding. 

The  fat  servitor  came  up  presently. 

"The  gracious  gods  have  had  thee  under  their  shel- 
tering wings  during  these  troublous  times,"  he  said, 
bowing.  "It  is  worth  the  trip  from  Tanis  to  look  upon 
thee." 

"Thy  words  are  fair,  Unas.  How  is  it  with  my 
father?"  Masanath  asked  with  stiff  lips. 

"The  gods  are  good  to  the  Pharaoh.  They  permit 
the  wise  Har-hat  to  continue  in  health  to  render  service 
to  his  sovereign." 

Masanath,  dreading  the  news,  asked  after  it  at  once. 
Men  have  killed  themselves  for  fear  of  death. 

"Thou  hast  come  to  conduct  me  to  court  ?" 

"That  is  the  gracious  will  of  my  master." 

Masanath  half  rose  from  her  seat.  "When?"  she 
asked  almost  inaudibly. 

"In  twenty  days ;  no  more.  I  have  a  mission  to  per- 
form and  shall  go  hence  immediately.  But  I  shall  re- 
turn in  twenty  days,  never  fear,  my  Lady." 

Masanath  saw  that  he  mocked  her.  Her  wrath  was 
an  effective  counter-irritant  for  her  trouble.  She  was 
calm  again. 

"Then,  if  thy  message  is  delivered,  go !" 

He  backed  out  and  descended  the  stairway. 

When  she  was  sure  he  was  gone  she  flung  herself,  in 
a  paroxysm  of  wild  grief  and  despair,  face  down  on 
her  cushions.  At  that  moment  a  cold  hand  caught  her 
arm.    She  looked  up  and  saw  Rachel.  All  the  blue  had 


RACHEL'S   REFUGE  423 

gone  from  the  Israelite's  eyes,  leaving  them  black  with 
dreadful  conviction.  The  color  had  receded  from  her 
cheeks  and  her  figure  was  rigid. 

"Who  was  that  man  ?"  she  demanded  in  a  voice  low 
with  concentrated  emotion. 

"Unas,  my  father's  man.   What  is  amiss,  Rachel?" 

The  Israelite  stood  for  a  moment  as  though  she  per- 
mitted the  intelligence  to  assemble  all  the  further  facts 
that  it  entailed.  Then  she  turned  away  and  walked 
swiftly  toward  the  well  of  the  stair. 

"Rachel!  Thou — what — thou  hast  not  answered 
me !"  Masanath  called. 

"There  is  naught  to  be  said.  I — it  were  best  that  I 
go  to  my  people  now,  since  thou  goest  to  marriage," 
was  the  unready  reply. 

"Thou  wilt  return  to  thy  people !  Rachel !  Nay,  nay ! 
Thou  art  all  I  have.  Come  back!  Come  back!"  Ma- 
sanath cried,  running  after  her. 

Rachel  hesitated,  trembling  with  a  multitude  of  emo- 
tions. 

"It  were  better  I  should  go,"  she  insisted,  trying  to 
escape  Masanath's  clasp.  "If  I  go  now  I  can  reach  my 
people  and  be  hidden  safely." 

The  little  Egyptian  flung  herself  upon  the  Israelite, 
weeping. 

"Art  thou,  too,  deserting  me — thou,  who  art  the 
last  to  befriend  me?  What  have  I  done  that  thou 
shouldst  desert  me?" 

"Naught !  Naught !  Thou  dear  unfortunate !"  was 
the  passionate  reply.    "But  I  must  go !    I  must !" 

"Thou  must  flee  from  sure  safety  to  only  possible 
security !"  Masanath  demanded  through  her  tears.  "If 
I  must  wed  this  terrible  prince,  I  shall  put  my  misery 


424  THE   YOKE 

to  some  use.  I  shall  ask  thy  liberty  at  his  hands  and 
thou  shalt  live  with  me  for  ever,  my  one  comfort,  my 
one  support." 

"But  Israel  departeth  shortly — " 

"Thou  shalt  not  go,"  Masanath  declared  hysteri- 
cally. "I  will  not  suffer  thee!  The  doors  shall  be 
barred  against  thy  departure !" 

Rachel  turned  her  head  away  and  pushed  back  her 
hair.  Her  plight  was  desperate.  Meanwhile  Masa- 
nath went  on. 

"It  is  not  like  thee,  Rachel,  to  desert  me !  I  had  not 
dreamed  thee  so  selfish — so  cruel !" 

"Sister !"  Rachel  cried,  "thou  torturest  me !"  On  a 
sudden  Masanath  raised  her  head  and  gazed  at  the 
Israelite. 

"What  possessed  thee  to  go?"  she  demanded.  "Is 
it  Rameses  who  hath  beset  thee?" 

Rachel  shook  her  head  and  avoided  Masanath's  eye. 

"Tell  me,"  the  Egyptian  insisted.  "There  is  mystery 
in  this.  What  had  my  father's  man  to  do  with  thy 
hasty  resolution  to  depart  ?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Masanath  put  the  Israelite 
back  from  her  a  little  and  repeated  her  question. 

"I  can  not  tell  thee,"  Rachel  responded  slowly. 

Silence  fell,  and  Masanath  spoke  at  last,  in  a  decided 
voice. 

"Thou  art  within  my  house,  and  so  under  my  com- 
mand. Thou  shalt  not  leave  me !  I  have  said  !"  She 
turned  to  go  back  to  her  cushions.  Rachel  followed 
her. 

"I  pray  thee,  Masanath — " 

"Hold  thy  peace.    Let  us  have  no  more  of  this." 


RACHEL'S    REFUGE    ,  425 

Rachel  grew  paler,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  as 
though  praying  for  fortitude.  At  last  she  broke  out : 

"Masanath!  Masanath!  That  man — that  Unas — 
attended  the  noble  who  halted  me  on  the  road  to  the 
Nile,  that  morning ;  he  was  the  one  sent  back  to  Mem- 
phis for  the  document  of  gift ;  he  pursued  me  into  the 
hills.    He  is  the  servant  of  the  man  who  follows  me !" 

The  Egyptian  recoiled  as  though  she  had  been  struck. 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  cried,  throwing  up  her  hands  as 
though  to  ward  off  the  conviction.  "Not  my  father! 
Not  he !    Thou  art  wrong,  Rachel !" 

"Would  to  the  Lord  God  that  I  were,  my  sister! 
But  I  am  not  mistaken  in  that  face.  He  was  the  one 
that  disputed  with  Kenkenes — was  the  one  Kenkenes 
choked.  Never  was  there  another  man  with  such  a 
voice,  such  a  face,  such  a  figure !    It  is  he !" 

Masanath  wrung  her  hands. 

"Tell  it  over  again.    Describe  the  noble  to  me." 

"He  was  third  in  the  procession  and  drove  black 
horses — " 

"Holy  Mother  Isis !  his  horses  were  black.  The 
first  two  would  have  been  the  princes  of  the  realm,  the 
next  the  fan-bearer.  Nay,  I  dare  not  hope  that  it  is 
not  true.  Since  he  would  barter  his  own  daughter  for 
a  high  place,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  take  by  force 
the  daughter  of  another.  O  Mother  of  Sorrows,  hide 
me!  my  father!  my  father!"  she  wailed. 

Under  the  combined  weight  of  her  griefs,  she 
dropped  on  the  carpeted  pavement  and  wept  without 
control.  All  of  Rachel's  fear  and  horror  were  swept 
away  in  a  wave  of  compunction  and  pity.  She  lifted 
the  little  Egyptian  back  upon  her  cushions  again  and, 
kneeling  beside  her,  took  the  bowed  head  against  her 


426  THE   YOKE 

heart.  Her  hair  fell  forward  and  framed  the  two  sor- 
rowing faces  in  a  shower  of  gold. 

"Lo !  I  have  been  a  guest  under  thy  roof  and  at  thy 
board,  a  pensioner  upon  thy  cheer,  and  now,  even  while 
my  heart  was  full  of  gratitude,  have  I  encroached 
upon  thy  happiness  and  broken  thine  overburdened 
heart.  Forgive  me,  Masanath.  Let  me  not  come  be- 
tween thee  and  thy  father,  sister!  Let  me  return  to 
my  people,  for  Israel  shortly  goeth  forth.  Doubt  it 
not.  Then  shall  I  be  out  of  his  reach,  and  the  Lord 
will  not  lay  up  the  sin  against  him.  Furthermore,  dost 
thou  not  remember  Deborah's  words  while  the  spirit 
of  prophecy  was  upon  her?  Promised  she  not  peace 
for  us,  and  happiness  and  long  tranquillity  to  follow 
these  days  of  sorrow  ?  Do  thou  have  faith,  Masanath. 
Cease  not  to  hope,  for  the  forces  of  evil  have  never  yet 
triumphed  wholly." 

"Nay,  but  how  shall  that  restore  my  pride  in  my 
father?"  Masanath  sobbed.  "How  shall  I  ever  think 
of  him  without  the  bitterness  of  shame?  What  must 
the  world  think  of  him — of  me?  Now  I  know  what 
the  murket  meant.  He  knew,  and  Kenkenes  knew 
and  all —  Alas !  alas !"  she  broke  forth  in  fresh  grief, 
"and  Hotep  knows !" 

Rachel  could  say  no  more,  for  in  this  sorrow  no 
comfort  could  avail. 

She  stroked  the  little  Egyptian's  hair  and  let  the 
wounded  heart  soothe  itself. 

Presently  Masanath's  mind  wandered  from  the  new 
villainy  of  her  father  to  the  memory  of  the  older 
offense  and  she  wept  afresh. 

"If  thou  goest,  Rachel,  there  is  none  left  to  comfort 
me,"  she  mourned.     "I  am  alone — desolate,  and  the 


RACHEL'S   REFUGE    .  427 

powers  of  Egypt  are  arrayed  against  me!"  Rachel 
was  hearing  her  own  plight  given  expression.  She 
put  aside  any  thought  of  herself  and  applied  herself 
to  Masanath's  need. 

"Nay,  there  is  Hotep,"  she  whispered.  "He  loves 
thee,  and  if  there  is  aught  in  prophecy,  he  will  com- 
fort thee  when  I  am  gone." 

"But  thou  shalt  not  go,"  Masanath  cried.  "Stay 
with  me,  Rachel." 

"Thy  father's  servant  returneth  in  twenty  days.  As 
I  have  said,  if  I  go  now,  I  can  reach  my  people  and  be 
hidden  safely." 

The  Egyptian  held  fast  to  the  Israelite  and  wept. 

"Nay,  Rachel.    Stay  with  me.    Thou  art  all  I  have !" 

Rachel  turned  her  head  and  gazed  toward  the  south. 
Across  the  housetops,  the  far-off  sickle  of  the  Nile 
curved  into  a  crevice  between  the  hills  and  disappeared. 
Somewhere  beyond  that  blue  and  broken  sky-line  her 
last  claim  to  Egypt  had  been  lost.  Why  should  she 
stay  when  Kenkenes  was  gone  ?  Meanwhile  Masanath 
went  on  pleading. 

If  she  departed,  the  next  day's  sun  might  dawn  upon 
him  in  Memphis,  searching  and  sorrowing  because  he 
found  her  not.  The  hour  of  separation  might  be  de- 
layed for  twenty  days — in  that  time  he  might  come. 

"I  will  stay  till  my  people  go — if  they  depart  within 
twenty  days,"  Rachel  made  answer.  "But  I  must  be 
gone  ere  thy  father's  servant  returns." 

Masanath  rebelled,  sobbing. 

"Nay,  weep  not.  The  hour  is  distant.  In  that  time, 
since  these  are  days  of  miracles,  thy  sorrows  and  mine 
may  have  faded  like  a  mist.  Come,  no  more.  Let  us 
bide  the  workings  of  the  good  God." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BACK  TO   MEMPHIS 

The  valley  in  which  Thebes  Diospolis  was  situated 
was  wide  and  the  overflow  of  the  Nile  did  not  reach 
the  arable  uplands  near  the  Arabian  hills.  Three 
thousand  years  before,  Menes  had  established  a  sys- 
tem of  irrigation  which  had  added  hundreds  of  square 
miles  to  the  agricultural  area  of  Egypt,  and  every  mon- 
arch after  him  had  unfailingly  preserved  the  institu- 
tion. From  Syene  to  Pelusium  the  country  was  rami- 
fied with  canals,  and  vast  sums  and  great  labor  were 
expended  yearly  upon  their  keeping. 

Since  the  work  was  heavy  and  the  demand  for  it 
constant,  it  became  a  punitive  part  of  each  nome's 
administration.  Therefore,  the  convicts  whose-  mis- 
deeds were  too  serious  to  be  punished  adequately  by 
the  bastinado  or  the  fine,  and  yet  not  grave  enough 
to  merit  a  sentence  to  the  quarries  or  the  mines,  were 
sent  to  the  canals. 

So  here  in  the  canals  of  the  eastern  Thebaid,  was 
Kenkenes,  a  prisoner  known  only  by  a  number.  His 
fellows  were  unjust  public  weighers,  usurers,  rioters, 
habitual  tax-evaders,  broken  debtors,  forgers  and 
housebreakers. 

The  season  of  toil  had  been  unusually  severe.  The 
native  convicts  had  more  to  endure  than  the  lash,  the 

428 


BACK   TO   MEMPHIS  .  429 

bitter  fare,  the  terrible  sun  by  day,  and  a  bed  of  dust 
by  night,  for  the  afflictions  that  befell  all  Egypt  were 
theirs  also.  The  strange  prisoner  among  them  suffered 
these  things  and  had  further  the  drawback  of  his  own 
physical  strength  to  combat.  The  plagues  overcame 
the  weaker  convicts  and  decimated  the  number  of 
laborers,  so  Kenkenes  was  put,  alone,  to  the  work  that 
two  men  had  done  before. 

However,  the  accumulation  of  toil  came  upon  him 
gradually  and  his  supple  frame  toughened  as  the  de- 
mand upon  it  increased.  Nor  was  he  sensible  of  pain 
or  great  weariness,  for  his  mind  was  far  away  from 
the  sun-heated  desert  of  the  eastern  Thebaid.  He 
spoke  seldom,  and  held  himself  aloof  from  his  fellow 
prisoners.  He  regarded  his  taskmasters  as  if  they 
were  written  authority  no  more  animate  than  wafered 
scrolls  of  papyrus.  No  one  doubted  from  the  begin- 
ning that  he  was  high-born,  and  this  mark  of  a  great 
fall  might  have  exposed  him  to  abuse ;  but  his  great 
strength  and  unusual  deportment  did  not  invite  mis- 
treatment. In  short,  he  was  looked  upon  as  mildly 
mad. 

When  Kenkenes  had  rejected  the  gods,  hope,  sun- 
dered from  faith,  groped  wildly  and  desperately.  In 
his  rare  moments  of  cheer  he  could  not  anticipate 
freedom  without  trusting  to  something,  and  in  his 
misanthropy  his  doubt  had  placed  no  limit  on  its  scope, 
questioning  the  honor  of  king  or  slave.  In  these  better 
moments  he  wanted  to  believe  in  something. 

So  constantly  had  his  sorrows  attended  him  that  he 
had  come  to  dread  the  night,  when  there  was  neither 
event  nor  labor  to  interrupt  their  dominance  over  his 
mind.    He  caught  eagerly  at  any  less  troublous  prob- 


430  .    THE   YOKE 

lem  that  might  suggest  itself,  for  he  felt  that  he  Had 
been  conquered  by  his  plight. 

As  he  lay  by  night,  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  pris- 
oners, he  gazed  at  one  glittering  star  that  stood  in  the 
north.  About  it  were  scintillating  clusters,  single  stars 
and  faint  streaks  of  never-dissipated  mists.  Night 
after  night  that  one  brilliant  point  had  remained  un- 
moved in  its  steady  gaze  from  the  uppermost,  but  the 
clusters  rotated  about  it;  the  single  stars  were  west- 
ward moving;  the  mists  shifted.  And  a  question  be- 
gan to  trouble  him :  What  hand  had  marshaled  the 
stars?  Seb,*  whom  Toth  had  supplanted?  Osiris, 
whom  Set  destroyed  ?  The  young  man  put  them  aside. 
They  were  feeble.  Nothing  so  weak  had  created  the 
mighty  hosts  of  heaven.  So  he  began  to  weigh  the 
question. 

What  hand  had  marshaled  the  stars  ?  An  accident  ? 
Since  man  must  worship  something  supernal,  what 
more  tremendous  than  the  cataclysm,  if  such  it  were, 
that  evolved  the  stars.  Had  the  same  or  a  series  of 
such  events  brought  forth  the  earth  and  man?  Was 
the  accident  continuously  attendant  ?  Did  it  spread  the 
Nile  over  Egypt  and  call  it  again  within  its  banks 
every  year  ?  Did  it  clothe  the  fields  and  bring  them  to 
harvest  every  revolution  of  the  sun?  Did  it  hang  the 
moon  like  a  sickle  in  the  west  or  lift  it  over  the 
Arabian  hills  like  a  bubble  of  silver  every  eight  and 
twenty  days? 

If  it  were  omnipotent,  infinite  and  omnipresent, 
could  it  be  an  accident?  If  it  were,  why  not  worship 
it  and  call  it  God  ? 

*Seb — The  Egyptian  Chronos. 


BACK   TO    MEMPHIS  ,  431 

The  reasoning  led  him  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
gods,  but  he  saw  no  reason  for  a  multiplicity  of  dei- 
ties. Each  member  of  the  Egyptian  Pantheon  presided 
over  some  special  field  of  human  interest  or  human 
environment.  To  him,  who  had  lived  next  to  nature 
till  her  study  had  become  a  worship,  there  were  no 
flaws  in  her  chronology,  no  shortcomings  or  plethora. 
The  earth  responded  to  the  skies ;  the  waters  were  in 
harmony  with  the  earth,  the  harvests  with  all.  There 
was  unity  in  the  control  over  the  universe  and  the 
hand  that  was  powerful  enough  to  swing  the  moon 
was  mighty  enough  to  flood  the  Nile,  was  tender 
enough  to  nourish  the  harvests,  was  wise  enough  to 
govern  men.  Where,  then,  was  any  need  of  a  super- 
fluity of  powers? 

But  behold,  something  had  thrust  a  dread  hand  be- 
tween the  tender  ministrations  of  this  other  Thing 
and  the  benefits  to  men.  By  this  time  it  had  reached 
the  remotenesses  of  Egypt  that  it  was  the  God  of  the 
Hebrews.  The  young  man  arrived  at  this  alternative 
in  his  reasoning:  There  was  a  minister  of  good 
and  another  of  evil — two  powers  presiding  over  the 
earth, — or, — the  sole  minister  was  offended  and  had 
deserted  its  charge,  or  had  loosed  upon  Egypt  the  evil 
at  its  command.  Here  Kenkenes  paused.  He  could 
not  arrive  at  any  conclusion  on  the  matter  or  convince 
himself  that  he  had  not  reasoned  well. 

Night  after  night,  he  fell  asleep  upon  his  ponder- 
ings,  but  they  returned  to  him  with  fresh  food  for 
thought  after  every  sunset.  The  reconstruction  of 
something  worshipful  was  more  fascinating  than 
had  been  the  demolition  of  the  gods.  It  took  many  a 
night's  meditation  for  the  evolution  of  any  fixed  idea 


432  THE   YOKE 

from  the  bewildering  convection  of  thought.  And  at 
last  he  had  concluded  only  that  there  was  one  thing — 
Power — Purpose,  which  was  greater  than  man. 

This  was  not  a  great  achievement.  He  had  simply 
permitted  the  universal,  indefinable  claim  to  piety,  in- 
herent in  every  reasoning  thing,  to  assert  itself. 

Great  and  sincere  and  beyond  expression  was  his 
amazement  and  his  joy  when  a  taskmaster  called  him 
from  the  canal-bed  one  day  and  informed  him  that  he 
was  free. 

The  order  was  shown  him  at  his  request,  and  the 
name  of  the  Princess  Ta-user  as  his  champion  filled 
him  with  puzzlement.  State  news  filtered  slowly  down 
even  to  the  level  he  had  occupied  for  the  past  eight 
months.  He  had  heard  that  it  was  Masanath  whom 
the  Hathors  had  destined  to  wear  the  crown  of  queen 
to  Rameses ;  the  convicts  had  known  of  the  supremacy 
of  Har-hat.  He  could  not  understand  how  it  came 
that  Ta-user,  lately  discarded,  could  prevail  upon  the 
crown  prince  to  persuade  Meneptah,  or  could  herself 
persuade  the  king  to  the  overthrow  of  the  fan-bearer's 
wishes  in  the  matter.  Furthermore,  why  should  the 
princess  have  taken  up  his  cause?  But  he  did  not 
tarry  while  he  pondered. 

His  raiment  and  his  money,  conscientiously  pre- 
served for  him  by  the  authorities,  had  been  sent  to  him, 
and  a  little  way  outside  the  camp  he  stepped  from  the 
lowest  to  his  rightful  rank,  swifter  than  he  had  de- 
scended from  it.  Covering  his  sun-burnt  shoulders 
with  his  robes,  assuming  the  circlet  once  again,  he 
went  toward  the  distant  city  of  Thebes,  once  more  in 
spirit  and  dress  the  son  of  the  royal  murket. 

At  the  heavy-walled  prison  across  the  Nile  he  asked 


BACK   TO   MEMPHIS  433 

after  the  signet.  It  had  not  been  returned  with  the 
writing.  Neither  was  there  any  word  to  him  concern- 
ing his  prayer  to  Pharaoh  for  the  liberty  of  Rachel. 
It  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  he  had  been  released 
only  after  he  had  been  sufficiently  punished ;  that  he 
had  failed  in  the  most  vital  aims  of  his  mission ;  that 
the  signet,  having  been  found,  seemed  now  to  be  lost 
irretrievably.  For  a  space  his  relief  at  his  freedom 
was  overshadowed  by  chagrin,  but  after  a  little  he  re- 
covered himself.  "At  least  I  am  free  to  care  for  her, 
now,"  he  reflected. 

Just  as  he  emerged  from  the  imposing  doorway  of 
the  house  of  the  governor  of  police,  he  was  jostled  by 
a  half-grown  boy.  To  Kenkenes,  it  seemed  that  the 
youth  had  been  on  the  point  of  entering,  but  instead 
he  apologized  inaudibly  and  walked  away. 

A  great  rush  of  impatience,  suspense,  eagerness 
and  heart-hunger  fell  on  the  young  artist  the  instant 
he  knew  his  footsteps  were  turned  toward  Memphis 
and  Rachel.  The  six  days  that  must  intervene  be- 
tween the  present  time  and  the  moment  he  entered  the 
old  capital  seemed  insufferable.  Never  did  a  lover  so 
fume  against  the  inexorable  deliberation  of  time  and 
the  obstinate  length  of  distance.  The  preliminaries  to 
departure  seemed  to  accumulate  and  lengthen — and 
lessen  in  importance.  Haste  consumed  him.  Under  a 
momentary  impulse,  with  all  seriousness  he  began  to 
consider  his  own  fleetness  of  foot  as  more  expedient 
than  travel  by  boat.  But  he  put  the  thought  aside,  and 
summoning  as  much  patience  as  was  possible,  set 
about  with  all  speed  preparing  to  depart. 

Thebes  had  not  awakened  from  the  coma  of  horror 
into  which  it  had  lapsed  during  the  great  plagues.    It 


434  THE   YOKE 

was  Kenkenes'  first  visit  to  the  city  since  he  Had  left 
it  for  the  desert,  eight  months  before.  Now,  the 
change  in  the  great  capital  of  the  south  impressed 
itself  upon  him,  in  spite  of  his  haste  and  his  all-absorb- 
ing thought  of  Memphis.  The  activities  of  life  seemed 
to  be  suspended.  The  call  to  prayers  could  be  heard 
hourly  from  the  great  gongs  of  the  temple  at  Karnak, 
when  in  happier  days  the  sound  had  been  lost  in  the 
city's  noises  within  the  very  shadow  of  the  pylons. 
He  could  hear  strains  of  music  in  religious  processions, 
when  the  wind  was  fair,  but  he  missed  the  acclaim  of 
the  populace.  Besides  these  sounds,  silence  had  set- 
tled over  Thebes.  Booths  were  closed  in  many  in- 
stances ;  the  streets,  which  ordinarily  were  quiet,  were 
now  deserted ;  there  were  no  carpets  swinging  from 
balconies  and  housetops,  and  the  citizens  he  saw  were 
sober  of  countenance  and  of  garb.  So  few,  indeed,  he 
met,  that  he  noted  each  passer-by  as  an  event.  Once, 
some  distance  away  from  him,  he  saw  again  the  youth 
whom  he  had  met  in  the  doorway  of  the  prison. 

At  a  caterer's  he  purchased  supplies  for  a  day's 
journey  and  looked  about  him  for  a  carrier.  Catching 
the  boy's  eye,  he  beckoned  him,  but  the  youth  turned 
on  his  heel  and  disappeared.  The  son  of  the  merchant 
offering  himself,  Kenkenes  continued  rapidly  toward 
the  river  where  he  engaged  a  vessel  to  take  him  to 
Memphis. 

He  roused  the  boatmen  into  immediate  activity  by 
promises  of  reward  for  every  mile  gained  over  the 
average  day's  journey.  Their  passenger  and  cargo 
shipped,  the  men  fell  to  their  oars  and  the  craft  shot 
out  of  the  still  waters  by  the  landings  into  midstream 
and  turned  toward  the  north. 


BACK   TO    MEMPHIS  435 

As  they  cleared,  the  private  passage  boat  belonging 
to  a  nobleman  swept  up  near  to  them  and  crossing 
their  track  took  the  same  direction  several  hundred 
yards  nearer  the  Libyan  shore.  Kenkenes  noted  that 
it  was  a  bari  of  elegant  pattern,  deep  draft  and 
more  numerously  manned  than  his.  He  noted  further 
that  one  of  the  boat's  crew  was  the  youth  he  had  met 
thrice  in  a  short  space  at  Thebes. 

"Small  wonder  that  he  was  not  willing  to  serve  me," 
he  commented  to  himself. 

If  he  observed  the  companion  boat  during  the  next 
five  days  it  was  to  remark  that  since  his  own  vessel 
kept  sturdily  alongside  one  of  superior  rowing  force 
his  men  were  of  a  surety  earning  the  promised  reward. 
When  they  entered  the  long  straight  stretches  of  the 
Middle  country  the  elegant  stranger  dropped  behind 
and  attended  Kenkenes  and  his  crew  more  distantly 
thereafter. 

Except  for  these  few  occasions,  Kenkenes  had  no 
thought  of  his  surroundings.  He  stood  in  the  prow 
and  looked  down  the  shimmering  width  of  river,  in 
the  direction  his  heart  had  taken  long  before  him. 
And  when  the  white  cliffs  that  proved  him  close  to 
Memphis  came  shouldering  up  from  the  northern 
horizon,  he  had  forgotten  the  stranger  in  the  eager, 
trembling  anticipations  that  possessed  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

NIGHT 

On  the  morning  of  the  eighteenth  day,  immediately 
after  sunrise,  Rachel  came  to  the  curtains  over  Masa- 
nath's  door,  and  put  them  aside. 

Within,  she  saw  her  hostess  yet  in  her  bed-gown, 
her  hair  disordered  and  her  tiny  feet  bare.  She  stood 
before  a  shrine  of  silver,  the  statue  of  Isis  in  turquoise 
displayed  therein,  and  an  offering  of  pressed  dates 
before  it.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  devotion  or  hu- 
mility in  the  attitude  of  the  Egyptian.  One  plump  arm 
was  stretched  toward  the  image  and  the  hand  was 
tightly  clenched.  Neither  was  there  any  reverence  in 
her  voice. 

Rachel  dropped  the  curtain  and  waited.  The  words 
came  distinctly  through  the  linen  hangings. 

"Thou  false  one  !*  thou  ingrate !  Is  it  for  this  that 
every  day  I  have  sent  two  fat  ducks  to  the  altar  in  thy 
name  ?  Is  it  that  I  must  be  separated  from  my  beloved 
and  wedded  to  the  man  I  hate,  that  I  have  prayed  to 
thee  day  and  night?  Who  hath  been  more  faithful 
to  thee  and  whom  hast  thou  served  more  cruelly? 
Mark  thou !  If  thou  darest  to  cause  this  thing  to  come 
to  pass,  night  nor  day  shall  I  rest  until  I  have  found 

*It  was  not  uncommon  for  Egyptians  to  threaten  their  gods. 
436 


NIGHT  437 

the  bones  of  Osiris  and  scattered  them  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven !  So  carefully  shall  I  hide  them,  so 
widely  shall  I  scatter  them,  that  no  help  of  Nepthys, 
Toth  or  Anubis  shall  let  thee  gather  them  up  again ! 
Aye,  I  will  do  it,  though  I  die  in  the  doing  and  remain 
unburied,  I  swear  by  Set!     Remember  thou!" 

Rachel  went  softly  away. 

After  a  time  she  returned.  She  had  covered  her 
white  dress  with  a  mantle  of  brown  linen  and  over 
her  head  she  wore  a  wimple  of  the  same  material. 
Her  hair  had  been  coiled  and  secured  with  a  bodkin. 
When  she  put  her  hand  under  the  wimple  and  drew 
it  across  her  mouth,  only  her  fair  skin  and  blue  eyes 
distinguished  her  from  any  other  Egyptian  lady 
dressed  for  a  long  journey. 

She  lifted  the  curtains  and  entered,  and  it  was  long 
before  she  came  forth  again.  Then  her  eyes  were 
hidden  and  her  head  bowed,  for  she  had  bidden  fare- 
well to  Masanath.    She  was  returning  to  Goshen. 

In  the  street  before  the  house  she  entered  her  litter 
and  with  Pepi  walking  beside  her  went  to  the  Nile. 
And  there  they  were  joined  by  Anubis.  He  had  been 
absent  for  days,  so  his  greeting  was  extravagant,  his 
loyalty  inalienable.  He  entered  the  bari  Pepi  had 
loaded  with  Rachel's  belongings,  and  would  not  be 
coaxed  or  menaced  into  disembarking. 

"Nay,  let  him  come,"  Rachel  said  at  last.  "Thou 
canst  set  him  on  the  shore  opposite  the  tomb.  He  will 
leave  us  willingly  there." 

So  they  pushed  away. 

Rachel  wrapped  her  wimple  about  her  face  and  re- 
moved it  once  only  to  gaze  at  the  quarries  of  Ma- 
saarah.     They  were     deserted.     Months  before,   di- 


438  THE   YOKE 

rectly  after  the  affliction  of  the  Nile,  the  Israelites  had 
been  returned  to  Goshen. 

After  the  bari  had  passed  below  the  stone  wharf, 
Rachel  covered  herself  and  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 
Her  heart  was  heavy  beyond  words. 

Pepi  broke  the  silence  once. 

"Shall  we  drop  the  ape  first,  my  Lady  ?" 

Rachel  shook  her  head.  Anubis  was  her  last  hold 
on  Kenkenes. 

At  the  Marsh  of  the  Discontented  Soul,  the  bari 
nosed  among  the  reeds  and  grounded  gently.  Rachel 
stood  for  a  moment  gazing  sadly  across  the  stretch  of 
sand  toward  the  abrupt  wall  against  which  it  termi- 
nated inland.  Pepi,  already  on  shore,  reached  a  pa- 
tient hand  toward  her  and  awaited  her  awakening. 
Anubis  landed  with  a  bound  and  made  in  a  series  of 
wide  circles  for  the  cliff.  His  escape  aroused  Rachel 
and  she  stepped  out  of  the  boat.  After  a  moment's 
thought,  she  bade  Pepi  pull  away  from  the  shore  and 
await  her  at  a  safe  distance. 

"I  shall  stay  no  longer  than  to  write  my  whereabouts 
on  the  tomb,  but  thy  boat  here  may  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  others  on  the  river,  and  hereafter  they  might 
ask  what  thou  didst  in  this  place.  And  I  am  not 
afraid." 

The  slow  Egyptian  obeyed  reluctantly,  shaking  his 
head  as  he  stood  away  from  shore. 

With  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob,  Rachel  walked 
back  over  the  sand  toward  the  cave  that  had  been  her 
only  shelter  once. 

She  did  not  fear  it.  Kenkenes  had  crossed  this  gray 
level  of  sand  in  the  night  and  its  wet  border  at  the 


NIGHT  439 

river  had  borne  the  print  of  his  sandal.  He  had  made 
the  tomb  a  home  for  her,  he  had  knelt  on  its  rock 
pavement  and  kissed  her  hands  in  its  dusk  and  had 
passed  its  threshold,  like  a  shadow,  to  return  no  more. 
And  here,  too,  was  the  other  faithful  suggestion  of 
her  lost  love — the  pet  ape.  How  his  fitful  fidelities 
had  directed  themselves  to  her!  She  caught  him  up 
as  he  passed  her.  He  struggled,  turned  in  her  arms, 
and  then  became  passive,  breathing  loudly. 

She  climbed  the  rough  steps  and  sat  down  on  the 
topmost  one  to  think. 

She  was  surrounded  with  old  evidences  of  her  sor- 
row. Nor  was  there  any  cheer  before  her.  Escape 
was  in  prospect,  but  it  was  liberty  without  light 
or  peace — a  gray  freedom  without  hope,  purpose 
or  fruit.  Her  retrospect  gradually  brightened,  never 
to  brilliance  but  to  a  soft  luminance,  brightest  at  the 
farthermost  point  and  sad  like  the  dying  daylight. 
She  summarized  her  griefs — danger,  death,  suspense, 
shame  and  long  hopelessness.  The  lonely  girl's  stock 
of  unhappiness  took  her  breath  away  and  she  pushed 
back  the  wimple  as  if  to  clear  away  the  oppression. 

Anubis  realized  his  moment  of  freedom  was  short 
and  with  an  instant  bound  he  was  out  and  gone. 

In  no  little  dismay  Rachel  started  in  pursuit,  but 
she  had  not  moved  ten  paces  from  the  bottom  of  the 
steps  before  she  paused,  transfixed. 

An  Egyptian,  not  Pepi,  was  hauling  a  boat  into  the 
reeds.  The  craft  secure,  he  turned  up  the  slant,  walk- 
ing rapidly. 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  commanding  stature. 

Anubis    descended    on    him    like    an    arrow.     The 


440  THE   YOKE 

man  saw  the  ape,  halted  a  fraction  of  an  instant, 
caught  sight  of  Rachel,  and  with  a  cry,  his  arms  flung 
wide,  broke  into  a  run  toward  her. 

The  ape  bounded  for  his  shoulder,  but  missed  and 
alighted  at  one  side,  chattering  raucously.  The  run- 
ning man  did  not  pause: 

The  world  revolved  slowly  about  Rachel,  and  the 
sustaining  structure  of  her  frame  seemed  to  lose  its 
rigidity.  She  put  out  her  hands,  blindly,  and  they 
were  caught  and  clasped  about  Kenkenes'  neck.  And 
there  in  the  strong  support  of  his  tightening  arms,  her 
face  hidden  against  the  leaping  heart,  all  time  and 
matters  of  the  world  drifted  away.  In  their  place  was 
only  a  vast  content,  featureless  and  full  of  soft  dusk 
and  warmth. 

Gone  were  all  the  demure  resolutions,  the  memory  of 
faith  or  unfaith.  Nothing  was  patent  to  her  except 
that  this  was  the  man  she  loved  and  he  had  returned 
from  the  dead. 

Presently  she  became  vaguely  aware  that  he  was 
speaking.  Though  a  little  unsteady  and  subdued,  it 
was  the  same  melody  of  voice  that  she  seemed  to  have 
known  from  the  cradle. 

"Rachel !  Rachel.!"  he  was  saying,  "why  didst  thou 
not  go  to  my  father  as  I  bade  thee?  Nay,  I  do  not 
chide  thee.  The  joy  of  finding  thee  hath  healed  me  of 
the  wrench  when  I  found  thee  not,  at  my  father's  house, 
at  dawn  to-day.    But  tell  me.  Why  didst  thou  not  go  ?" 

"I — I  feared — "  she  faltered  after  a  silence. 

"My  father?  Nay,  now,  dost  thou  fear  me?  Not 
so;  and  my  father  is  but  myself,  grown  old.  He  was 
only  a  little  less  mad  with  fear  than  I,  when  he  discov- 
ered that  thou  shouldst  have  come  to  him  so  long  ago, 


NIGHT  44i 

and  earnest  not.  It  damped  his  joy  in  having  me  again, 
and  I  left  him  pale  with  concern.  Did  I  not  tell  thee 
how  good  he  is?" 

"Aye,  it  was  not  that  I  feared  him,  but  that  I  feared 
that  thou — "    And  she  paused  and  again  he  helped  her. 

"That  I  was  dead?  That  I  had  played  thee  false? 
Rachel!  But  how  couldst  thou  know?  Forgive  me. 
Since  the  tenth  night  I  left  thee  I  have  been  in  prison." 

"In  prison !"  she  exclaimed,  lifting  her  face.  "Alas, 
that  I  did  not  think  of  it.  It  is  mine  to  beg  thy  for- 
giveness, Kenkenes,  and  on  my  very  knees !" 

"So  thou  didst  think  it,  in  truth !"  She  hid  her  face 
again  and  craved  his  pardon. 

But  he  pressed  her  to  him  and  soothed  her. 

"Nay,  I  do  not  chide  thee.  Had  I  been  in  thy  place, 
I  might  have  thought  the  same.  But  it  is  past — gone 
with  the  horrors  of  this  horrible  season — Osiris  be 
thanked !" 

"Thanks  be  to  the  God  of  Israel,"  she  demanded 
from  her  shelter. 

"And  the  God  of  Israel,"  he  said  obediently. 

"Nay,  to  the  God  of  Israel  alone,"  she  insisted,  rais- 
ing her  head. 

He  laughed  a  little  and  patted  her  hands  softly  to- 
gether. 

"It  was  but  the  habit  in  me  that  made  me  name 
Osiris.    There  is  no  god  for  me,  but  Love." 

"So  long,  so  long,  Kenkenes,  and  not  any  change  in 
thee?"  she  sighed.  "How  hath  Egypt  been  helped  of 
her  gods,  these  grievous  days  ?" 

"The  gods  and  the  gods,  and  ever  the  gods!"  he 
said.  "What  have  we  to  do  with  them?  Deborah 
bade  me  turn  from  them  and  this  I  have  done  with 


442  THE   YOKE 

all  sincerity.  Much  have  I  pondered  on  the  question 
and  this  have  I  concluded.  Egypt's  holy  temples  have 
been  vainly  built ;  her  worship  has  been  wasted  on  the 
air.  There  was  and  is  a  Creator,  but,  Rachel,  that 
Power  whose  mind  is  troubled  with  the  great  things 
is  too  great  to  behold  the  petty  concerns  of  men.  My 
fortunes  and  thine  we  must  direct,  for  though  we  im- 
plored that  Power  till  we  died  from  the  fervor  of  our 
supplications,  It  could  not  hear,  whose  ears  are  filled 
with  the  murmurings  of  the  traveling  stars.  Why  we 
were  created  and  forgotten,  we  may  not  know.  How 
may  we  guess  the  motives  of  anything  too  great  for 
us  to  conceive?  Whatsoever  befalls  us  results  from 
our  use  at  the  hands  of  men,  or  from  the  nature  of  our 
abiding-place.  We  must  defend  ourselves,  prosper 
ourselves  and  live  for  what  we  make  of  life.  After 
that  we  shall  not  know  the  troubles  and  the  joys  of 
the  world,  for  the  tombs  are  restful  and  soundless. 
Is  it  not  so,  my  Rachel  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Thou  hast  gone  astray,  Ken- 
kenes.    But  thou  wast  untaught — " 

"I  have  reasoned,  Rachel,  and  the  Power  I  have 
found  in  my  ponderings,  makes  all  the  gods  seem 
little.  Thy  God  must  manifest  himself  more  fearfully ; 
he  must  overthrow  my  reasoning  before  I  can  bow  to 
him.  And  if,  of  a  surety,  he  is  greater  than  the  Power 
I  have  made,  will  he  need  my  adoration  or  listen  to 
my  prayers?  Nay,  nay,  my  Rachel.  If  thou  wilt 
have  me  worship,  let  me  fall  on  my  face  to  thee — " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  quick  gesture. 

"Kenkenes,  have  I  prayed  in  vain  for  the  light  to 
fall  on  thee  ?"  she  asked  sadly. 


NIGHT  443 

He  smiled  and  moved  closer,  looking  down  into  her 
face  as  he  had  done  when  he  studied  it  as  Athor. 

"Nay,  hast  thou  done  that,  and  hast  thou  not  been 
heard?  Thou  dost  but  fix  me  in  mine  unbelief.  Did 
any  god  exist  he  would  have  heard  thy  supplications. 
Come,  let  us  make  an  end  of  this.  There  are  sweeter 
themes  I  would  discuss.  Where  hast  thou  been,  these 
many  months?     Not  here  in  this  haunted  cave?" 

His  lightness  sank  her  hope  to  the  lowest  ebb.  A 
sudden  hurt  reached  her  heart.  His  unregeneracy 
suggested  unfaithfulness  to  her.  Their  positions  had 
been  reversed.  It  was  she  that  had  been  denied. 
Duty  reasserted  itself  with  a  chiding  sting. 

"I  have  been  a  guest  with  Masanath — " 

"The  daughter  of  Har-hat!"  he  cried,  retreating  a 
step. 

"The  daughter  of  mine  enemy,"  she  went  on.  "She 
found  me  here  by  accident  and  took  me  to  her  home  in 
Memphis.  There  Deborah  died.  And  there,  eighteen 
days  agone,  I  discovered  who  it  was  that  sheltered 
me,  and  now  I  return  to  my  people." 

"The  fan-bearer  did  not  find  thee?"  he  demanded 
at  once. 

"Nay.  Unseen,  I  looked  upon  his  man.  Alas !  the 
wound  to  the  daughter-love  in  Masanath!  On  the 
morrow  she  departeth  for  Tanis  where  she  will  wed 
with  the  Prince  Rameses." 

Kenkenes'  hands  fell  to  his  sides.  "Nay,  now! 
Of  a  surety,  this  is  the  maddest  caprice  the  Hathors 
ever  wrought.  In  the  house  of  thine  enemy!  Well 
for  me  I  did  not  know  it!  I  should  have  died  from 
very  apprehension.  And  all  these  months  thou  wast 
within  sight  of  my  father's  doors !" 


444  THE   YOKE 

"I  saw  him  once,"  she  said. 

"And  discovered  not  thyself!  How  cruelly  thou 
hast  used  thyself,  Rachel.  He  would  have  told  thee, 
long  ago,  why  I  came  not  back." 

"Aye,  now  I  know ;  but,  Kenkenes,  I  could  not  go, 
fearing — " 

"Enough.  I  forgot.  Come,  let  us  go  hence.  Mem- 
phis and  my  father's  house  await  thee  now." 

"But  I  go  to  my  people,  even  now,"  she  answered, 
with  averted  face  and  unready  words. 

Kenkenes  whitened. 

"And  leave  me?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"Think  me  not  ungrateful,"  she  said.  "I  have  said 
no  words  of  thanks  since  there  is  none  that  can  ex- 
press a  tithe  of  my  great  indebtedness  to  thee." 

"I  have  achieved  nothing  for  thee.  Not  even  have 
I  won  thy  freedom.  I  have  failed.  But  shameless  in 
mine  undeserts,  I  am  come  to  ask  my  reward  neverthe- 
less." He  was  very  near  to  her,  his  face  full  of  pur- 
pose and  intensity,  his  voice  of  great  restraint. 

"That  which  once  thou  didst  refuse  to  hear,  thou 
hast  known  for  long  by  other  proof  than  words,"  he 
went  on.  "Let  me  say  it  now.  I  love  thee,  Rachel." 
Taking  her  cold  hands  he  drew  her  back  to  him. 

"Once  I  forbore,"  he  continued,  the  persuasive  calm 
in  his  manner  heightening,  "because  I  knew  it  would 
hurt  thee  to  say  me  'nay.'  I  told  myself  that  I  was 
brave,  then,  when  the  actual  loss  of  thee  was  distant. 
But  thou  wilt  leave  me  now  and  my  fortitude  for 
thy  sake  is  gone.  I  am  selfish  because  I  love  thee  so. 
The  extreme  is  reached.  I  can  withstand  no  more. 
Dost  thou  love  me,  Rachel  ?" 

What  need  for  him  to  wait  for  the  word  that  gave 


NIGHT  445 

assent  ?  Was  there  not  eloquent  testimony  in  her  every 
feature  and  in  every  act  of  that  hour  he  had  been  with 
her?  But  his  hands  trembled,  holding  hers,  till  she 
told  him  "aye." 

"Then  ask  what  thou  wilt  of  me,"  he  said,  the  re- 
straint gone,  desperation  taking  its  place.  "I  submit, 
so  thou  dost  yield  thyself  to  me.  Shall  I  pray  thy 
prayers,  kneel  in  thy  shrines?  Shall  I  go  with  thee 
into  slavery?  Shall  I  learn  thy  tongue,  turn  my  back 
on  my  people,  become  one  of  Israel  and  hate  Egypt? 
These  things  will  J.  do,  and  more,  so  I  shall  find  thee 
all  mine  own  when  they  are  done." 

But  she  freed  her  hands  to  cover  her  face  and  weep. 
Kenkenes  sighed  from  the  very  heaviness  of  his  un- 
happiness. 

"Thou  shouldst  hate  me,  if,  to  win  thee,  I  bowed 
in  pretense  to  thy  God,"  he  said  weakly. 

Perhaps  his  words  awakened  a  hope  or  perhaps 
they  made  her  desperate.  Whatever  the  sensation, 
she  raised  her  head  and  spoke  with  a  sudden  assump- 
tion of  calm : 

"Naught  could  make  me  hate  thee,  Kenkenes,  but  I 
should  know  if  thou  didst  pretend.  Thou  art  as  trans- 
parent as  air.  Thou  art  honest,  guileless — too  good  to 
be  lost  to  the  Bosom  that  must  have  thrilled  with  joy 
when  he  beheld  what  a  beautiful  soul  His  hands  had 
wrought.  Few  of  His  believers  have  conceived  the 
greatness  of  Jehovah  as  thou  hast,  O  my  Kenkenes. 
In  that  art  thou  proved  ripe  for  His  worship.  Thou 
hast  found  His  might  to  be  so  limitless  that  thou 
thinkest  thyself  as  naught  in  His  sight.  In  that  hast 
thou  gone  astray.  The  mind  is  gross  that  can  not 
heed  the  weak  and  small.    Shall  we  say  that  the  spin- 


446  THE   YOKE 

ner  of  the  gossamer,  the  painter  of  the  rose  is  not 
fine?  Shall  He  forget  His  daintiest,  frailest  works  for 
His  mightiest  ?  Thou,  artist  and  creator  thyself,  Ken- 
kenes,  answer  for  Him.  Nay ;  not  so !  He,  who  hath 
an  ear  to  the  lapse  between  an  hour  and  an  hour,  hath 
counted  His  song-birds  and  numbered  His  blossoms. 
For  are  they,  being  small,  less  wondrous  than  the 
heavens,  His  handiwork?  Shall  He  then  fail  to  hear 
the  voice  of  His  sons  in  whom  He  hath  taken  greater 
pains?" 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  him.  His 
expression  urged  her  on. 

"Does  it  not  trouble  thee  when  I,  whom  thou  hast 
but  lately  known,  am  in  sorrow?  How  much  more 
then  does  thine  unhappiness  vex  His  holy  heart,  who 
fashioned  thee,  who  blew  the  breath  of  life  into  thy 
nostrils !  Wilt  thou  deny  the  Hand  that  led  thee  to  me, 
here,  in  this  hour — that  cared  for  me  during  the  sea- 
son of  distress  and  peril?  Nay,  my  beloved,  there  is 
no  greater  virtue  than  gratitude.  It  is  an  essential  in 
the  make-up  of  the  great  of  heart — wilt  thou  put  it 
out  of  thy  fine  nature  ?" 

Again  she  paused,  and  this  time  he  answered  in  a 
half-whisper : 

"Thou  dost  shake  me  in  mine  heresy." 

"It  is  but  newly  seated  in  thy  credence,"  she  said 
eagerly,  "and  is  easy  to  be  put  aside — easier  to  cast 
off  than  was  the  idolatry.  Put  it  away  in  truth  from 
thee  and  grieve  thy  Lord  God  no  more." 

"Would  that  I  could,  now,  this  hour.  We  may 
discipline  the  soul  and  chasten  the  body,  but  how  may 
we  govern  the  mind  and  its  disorderly  beliefs?     It 


NIGHT  447 

laughs  at  the  sober  restraint  of  the  will ;  my  heart  is 
broken  for  its  sake,  but  it  is  reprobate  still." 

'And  I  have  not  won  thee?"  she  asked,  shrinking 
from  him. 

"Give  me  time — teach  me  more — return  not  to 
Goshen.  Come  back  to  Memphis  with  me !"  he  begged 
in  rapid  words,  pressing  after  her.  "No  man  uncov- 
ered so  great  a  problem,  alone,  in  a  moment.  How 
shall  I  find  God  in  an  hour  ?" 

"O  had  I  the  tongue  of  Miriam !"  she  exclaimed. 

"Go  not  yet.  Wilt  thou  give  me  up,  after  a  single 
effort  ?  Miriam  could  not  win  me,  nor  all  thy  priests. 
I  shall  be  led  by  thee  alone.  A  day  longer — an 
hour — " 

"But  after  the  manner  of  man,  thou  wilt  put  off  and 
wait  and  wait.  Thou  art  too  able,  Kenkenes,  too  full 
of  power  for  aid  of  mine — " 

"Rachel,  if  thou  goest  into  Goshen — "  he  began 
passionately,  but  she  clutched  him  wildly,  as  if  to  hold 
him,  though  death  itself  dragged  at  her  fingers. 

"Hide  me !"  she  gasped  in  a  terrified  whisper.  "The 
servant  of  Har-hat !" 

At  the  mention  of  his  enemy's  name,  Kenkenes 
turned  swiftly  about. 

Two  half-clad  Nubians  were  at  the  river's  edge, 
hauling  up  an  elegant  passage  boat.  It  was  deep  of 
draft  and  had  many  sets  of  oars.  Approaching  over 
the  sand,  hesitatingly,  and  with  timid  glances  toward 
the  tomb  beyond,  were  four  others.  The  foremost 
was  the  youth  he  had  seen  in  Thebes.  The  next  wore 
a  striped  tunic.    Fourth  and  last  was  Unas. 

"Now,   by  my  soul,"   Kenkenes   exclaimed   aloud, 


448  THE   YOKE 

"there  is  no  more  mystery  concerning  the  boy."  He 
turned  and  took  Rachel  in  his  arms. 

"Now,  do  thou  test  the  helpfulness  of  thy  God !  I 
have  been  tricked  and  I  see  no  help  for  us.  Enter  the 
tomb  and  close  the  door,  and  since  thou  lovest  honor 
better  than  liberty,  let  this  be  thine  escape." 

He  put  his  only  weapon,  his  dagger,  into  her  hands. 

For  an  instant  he  gazed  at  her  tense  white  face ;  then 
bending  over  her,  he  kissed  her  once  and  put  her  be- 
hind him. 

"Go,"  he  said. 

"What  want  ye  ?"  he  demanded  of  the  men. 

"A  slave,"  Unas  answered  evilly,  stepping  to  the 
fore. 

"Your  authority?"  The  fat  courier  flourished  a 
document  and  held  up  a  blue  jewel,  hanging  about  his 
neck.  Meneptah  had  forgotten  his  promise  to  return 
the  lapis-lazuli  signet  to  Mentu. 

"Thou  art  undone,  knave!"  the  courier  added  with 
a  short  laugh.  He  clapped  his  hands  and  the  four 
Nubians  advanced  rapidly  upon  Kenkenes.  There 
was  to  be  no  parley. 

Kenkenes  glanced  at  the  youth.  He  was  not  full 
grown, — spare,  light  and  small  in  stature. 

"I  am  sorry  for  thee,  boy,"  Kenkenes  muttered. 
"Thy  gods  judge  between  thee  and  me !" 

The  Nubians,  two  by  two,  each  man  ready  to  spring, 
rushed. 

With  a  bound,  Kenkenes  seized  the  youth  by  the 
ankles  and  swung  him  like  an  animate  bludgeon  over 
his  head.  The  attacking  party  was  too  precipitate 
to  halt  in  time  and  the  yelling  weapon  swung  round, 
horizontally  mowing  down  the  foremost  pair  of  men 


NIGHT  449 

like  wooden  pins.  The  weight  of  the  boy,  more  than 
the  force  of  the  blow,  jerked  him  from  the  sculptor's 
hands.  Kenkenes  recovered  himself  and  retreated. 
As  he  did  so,  he  stumbled  on  a  fragment  of  rock. 
He  wrenched  it  from  its  bed  and  balanced  it  above  his 
head. 

The  powerful  figure  with  the  primitive  weapon  was 
too  savage  a  picture  for  the  remaining  pair  to  contem- 
plate at  close  quarters.  Unas  had  made  no  movement 
to  help  in  the  assault.  He  had  felt  the  weight  of  the 
sculptor's  hand  and  had  evidently  published  the  sav- 
agery of  the  young  man  to  his  assistants.  They  had 
come  prepared  to  capture  an  athletic  malefactor,  but 
here  was  a  jungle  tiger  brought  to  bay.  They  retired 
till  their  fallen  fellows  should  arise. 

The  vanquished  were  struggling  to  gain  their  feet, 
and  Kenkenes  noted  it  with  concern.  He  was  not 
gaining  in  this  lull.  There  were  other  stones  about 
him.  He  hurled  the  fragment  with  a  sure  aim,  and  a 
Nubian,  who  had  been  overthrown,  dropped  limply 
and  stretched  himself  on  the  sand. 

With  a  howl  the  remaining  three  charged.  They 
were  too  close  for  the  second  missile  of  Kenkenes  to 
do  any  slaughter,  and  he  went  down  under  the  com- 
bined attack,  fighting  insanely. 

"Slit  his  throat,"  Unas  shrieked,  tumbling  on  the 
captive,  as  Kenkenes'  superhuman  struggles  threat- 
ened to  shake  them  off.  One  of  the  men  raised  him- 
self and  made  ready  to  obey.  Holding  to  Kenkenes 
with  one  hand,  he  drew  a  knife  from  his  belt  and  pre- 
pared to  strike. 

At  that  instant,  the  captive  caught  sight  of  a  pale 
woman-face,  the  eyes  blazing  with  vengeance.    There 


450  THE   YOKE 

was  a  flash  of  a  white-sleeved  arm  and  the  thump  and 
jolt  of  a  dagger  driven  strongly  through  flesh.  The 
murderous  Nubian  yelled  and  tumbled,  kicking,  on 
the  sand.  He  carried  a  knife  at  the  juncture  of  the 
neck  and  shoulder. 

Instantly  there  was  a  chorus  of  yells. 

"She-devil !     Hyena !" 

Unas  detached  himself  from  the  struggle  and 
plunged  after  Rachel,  now  in  full  sight  of  Kenkenes. 
He  saw  her  retreat,  warding  off  the  fat  courier  with 
her  hands ;  he  saw  her  stumble  and  fall ;  he  saw  Anubis 
fly,  with  a  chatter  of  rage,  in  the  face  of  the  courier, 
and  struggling  mightily,  he  threw  off  his  captors,  and 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

And  then  the  light  went  out  in  Egypt ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
\ 

LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS 

A  water-carrier  in  Syene  was  carrying  a  yoke  across 
his  shoulders  and  the  great  earthen  jars  swung  pon- 
derously as  he  walked.  His  bare  feet  disturbed  the 
red  dust  of  the  path  down  to  the  granite-basined  river, 
and  tiny  clouds  puffed  out  on  each  side  of  the  way  at 
every  footfall. 

On  a  housetop  in  Memphis,  a  gentlewoman,  in  a 
single  gauze  slip  and  many  jewels,  lounged  on  a  rug 
and  gazed  at  nothing  across  the  city.  A  flat-shanked 
Ethiopian  fanned  her  listlessly  and  dreamed  also. 

A  little  boy,  innocent  of  raiment,  stood  before  a  new 
tomb,  opposite  Tanis  and  awaited  his  father  who  la- 
bored within. 

The  water-carrier  collapsed  in  his  tracks ;  the  lady 
shrieked ;  the  Ethiopian  dropped  the  fan ;  the  little  boy 
fell  on  his  face — all  at  the  same  instant. 

From  the  sea  to  the  first  cataract,  from  the  deepest 
recess  in  the  Arabian  hills  to  the  remotest  peak  in  the 
Libyan  desert,  Egypt  was  blinded  and  muffled  and 
smothered  in  a  dead,  black  night — even  darkness 
that  could  be  felt. 

Kenkenes  stood  still.  Harsh  hands  were  no  longer 
on  him  and  for  an  instant  no  sound  was  to  be  heard. 
Profound  gloom  enveloped  him.  His  every  sense  was 
frustrated. 

451 


452  THE   YOKE 

Some  one  of  his  assailants  had  found  his  heart  with 
a  knife  and  this  was  death,  he  thought. 

Then  strange,  far-off  murmurings  filled  his  ears. 
From  the  river  and  beside  him  went  up  wild,  hoarse 
cries  of  men  in  mortal  terror.  Memphis  began  to 
drone  like  a  vast  and  troubled  hive.  The  distant  pas- 
tures became  blatant  and  the  poultry  near  the  huts 
of  rustics  cackled  in  wild  dismay.  In  the  hills  about 
beasts  whimpered  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  screaming 
of  bewildered  birds. 

With  the  awakening  of  sound,  Kenkenes  knew  that 
another  plague  had  befallen  Egypt. 

The  dread  that  might  have  transfixed  him  was  over- 
come by  the  instant  recollection  of  Rachel's  peril.  No 
restraining  hands  were  upon  him,  but  he  stood  yet  a 
space  attempting  to  catch  some  rift  in  the  thick  night. 

There  was  not  one  ray  of  light. 

While  he  waited  it  was  more  distinctly  borne  in  upon 
him  that  during  that  space  Rachel  might  suffer. 

He  would  go  to  her. 

The  night  made  a  wall  ahead  of  him  which  was  im- 
minent and  indiscernible.  It  was  like  a  great  weight 
upon  his  shoulders  and  a  pitfall  at  his  feet. 

He  crouched  and  fumbled  before  him.  His  appre- 
hension was  physical ;  his  mind  urged  him ;  his  body 
rebelled.  He  would  have  run  but  he  could  barely  force 
one  foot  ahead  of  the  other.  Illusory  obstacles  con- 
fronted him.  He  waved  his  arms  and  put  forward  a 
foot.  The  ground  was  lower  than  he  thought,  and  he 
stepped  weightily.  He  brought  up  the  other  foot  la- 
boriously, hesitatingly.  This  was  not  advance,  but 
time-losing. 

Meanwhile,  what  might  not  be  happening  to  Rachel 


LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS  453 

in  this  chaos  of  gloom  and  clamor  ?  Why  need  he  hide 
his  escape  ?  None  of  these  near-by  assailants  had  any 
care  now  save  for  his  own  safety. 

He  called  her  name  loudly  and  listened. 

There  was  no  answer  in  her  voice. 

He  forced  himself  to  move,  but  had  the  next  step 
led  into  an  abyss  his  feet  could  not  have  been  more 
reluctant.  He  flailed  the  air  with  his  arms  and  accom- 
plished another  pace.  He  realized  that  he  could  not 
reach,  in  an  hour,  at  this  rate,  the  spot  in  which  he  had 
last  seen  her.  Again  he  called,  using  his  full  lung 
power,  but  the  only  reply  was  an  echo,  or  the  hoarse 
supplications  of  men,  near  him  and  on  the  river.  The 
river !  Had  Rachel  gone  that  way  too  far  and  beyond 
retreat  ?  The  thought  chilled  him  with  terror  and  hor- 
ror. 

He  execrated  himself  for  his  trepidation  and  strove 
wildly  to  proceed ;  but  strive  as  he  might  he  could  not 
advance.  How  long  since  the  darkness  had  fallen, 
and  he  had  moved  but  two  paces  from  the  spot  in  which 
it  had  overtaken  him!  The  outcry  near  him  subsided 
into  low  murmurs  of  terror,  and  none  lifted  a  voice 
in  answer  to  his  distracted  call. 

If  Rachel  had  been  near  she  would  have  replied  to 
him.  The  alternatives  he  had  to  choose  as  her  possi- 
ble fate  were  death  in  the  Nile  or  capture  by  Unas. 
The  one  he  fought  away  from  him  wildly,  the  other 
made  him  frantic.  And  the  realization  of  his  own 
helplessness,  with  the  picture  of  her  distress  at  that 
moment,  crushed  him. 

A  tangle  of  wind-mown  reeds  tripped  him  and 
pitched  him  to  his  knees  among  the  high  marsh  growth. 

He  did  not  rise. 


454  THE   YOKE 

The  babe  in  pain  cries  to  his  mother;  the  man  in 
his  maturity  may  outgrow  the  susceptibility  to  tears, 
but  he  never  outwears  the  want  of  a  stronger  spirit 
upon  which  to  call  in  his  hour  of  distress. 

For  Kenkenes  it  had  been  a  far  cry,  from  his  careless 
days  and  his  empyrean  populous  with  deities,  to  this 
utter  and  unhappy  night  and  one  unseen  Power.  In 
that  time  he  had  run  the  gamut  of  sensations  from  a 
laugh  to  a  wail.  Now  was  his  need  the  sorest  of  all  his 
life.  The  most  helpful  of  all  hands  must  aid  him. 
His  fathers'  gods  were  in  the  dust.  What  of  that  un- 
approachable, unfeeling  Omnipotence  he  had  created 
in  their  stead? 

He  fell  on  his  face  and  prayed. 

"O  Thou,  who  art  somewhere  behind  the  phantom 
gods  that  we  have  raised !  To  whom  all  prayer  as- 
cends by  many-charted  paths ;  Thou  who  canst  spread 
this  sooty  night  across  the  morning  skies  and  turn  to 
milk  the  bones  of  men !  Thou  who  didst  undo  my 
surest  plans,  who  dost  mock  my  boasted  power,  who 
hast  stripped  me  till  my  feeble  self  is  bared  to  me 
even  in  this  dreadful  night ;  Thou  who  wast  a  fending 
hand  about  her;  who  art  her  only  succor  now — to 
whom  she  prays — and  by  that  sign,  Thou  Very  God! 
I  bow  to  Thee. 

"My  lips  are  stiff  at  prayer  to  such  as  Thou.  But 
what  need  of  my  tongue's  abashed  interpretation  of 
that  which  I  would  say,  since  even  the  future's  history 
is  open  unto  Thee  ? 

"I  have  run  my  course  without  craving  Thine  aid, 
and  lo !  here  have  I  ended — a  voice  appealing  through 
the  night — no  more. 

"Now,  wilt  Thou  heed  an  alien's  plea;  wilt  Thou 


LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS  455 

know  a  stranger  petitioning  before  Thy  high  and  holy 
place?  How  shall  I  win  Thine  ear?  Charge  me  with 
any  mission,  weight  me  with  a  lifetime  of  penances, 
strip  me  of  power  everlastingly,  but  grant  me  leave  to 
supplicate  Thy  throne. 

"Not  for  myself  do  I  pray,  O  Hidden  God!  Not 
one  jot  would  I  overtax  Thy  bounty  toward  me  beyond 
the  sufferance  of  my  devotion.  But  for  her  I  pray — 
for  her,  out  somewhere  in  this  unlifting  gloom,  her  ten- 
der maidenhood  uncomforted — with  night,  with  death, 
with  long  dishonor  threatening  her.  Attend  her,  O 
Thou  august  Warden !  Let  her  not  cry  out  to  Thee  in 
vain !  Be  Thou  as  a  wall  about  her,  as  a  light  before 
her,  as  a  firm  path  beneath  her  feet.  Do  Thou  as  Thou 
wilt  with  me.  Lo  !  I  offer  up  myself  as  ransom  for  her 
— myself — all  I  have !  Take  her  from  me,  deny  mine 
eyes  the  sight  of  her  for  ever,  blot  me  wholly  out  of 
her  heart,  yield  me  over  to  the  wrath  of  mine  enemies, 
and  to  Thine  unknowable  vengeance  thereafter;  but 
save  her,  Great  God !  save  her  from  her  enemy ! 

"Dost  Thou  hear  me,  O  Holy  Mystery  ?  Is  there  no 
sign,  no  manifestation  that  Thou  dost  attend? 

"Nay,  but  I  know  that  Thou  hearest  me!  By  my 
faith  in  Thy  being  I  know  it,  Lord !" 

Peace  fell  on  him  and  he  slept. 

In  after  years  Kenkenes  remembered  only  vaguely 
the  long  hours  of  that  black  and  lonely  vigil.  This 
climax  to  a  calamitous  space  eight  months  in  length 
might  have  crushed  a  less  sturdy  spirit,  but  he  was 
mystically  sustained. 

With  the  exception  of  a  few  intervals  of  short  dura- 
tion most  of  the  time  was  spent  in  sleep,  so  profound 
and  dreamless  as  to  border  on  coma.    The  reeds  had 


456  THE   YOKE 

received  him  on  a  bed  of  crushed  herbage  and  the  up- 
standing ranks  about  him  sheltered  him  from  the  blow- 
ing sand.  The  whilom  assailants  of  the  young  man 
were  not  so  kindly  served  by  the  gods  to  whom  they 
appealed  loudly  and  frequently.  The  city  in  the  dis- 
tance moaned  and  complained  and  the  hills  were  full 
of  fear. 

In  one  of  his  profound  lapses  of  slumber  a  hairy 
paw  felt  of  Kenkenes'  face.  Later  a  drifting  boat 
nosed  about  among  the  reeds  at  the  water's  edge. 
Presently  one  of  the  crew  cried  out,  and  a  second  voice 
said: 

"Nay,  fear  not;  it  is  an  ape,  by  the  feel  of  him. 
Toth  is  with  us.  It  is  a  good  omen;  let  him  not  go 
forth." 

Silence  fell  again,  for  the  boat  drifted  on. 

At  last  dawn-lights  reddened  about  the  horizon ;  stars 
faded  out  of  the  uppermost  as  naturally  as  if  they  had 
been  there  during  the  three  days  of  unlifting  night. 
All  Egypt  showed  up  darkly  in  the  coming  day. 

Kenkenes,  in  his  couch  of  reeds,  slept  on  peacefully. 

The  mid-morning  sun  shone  in  his  face  before  he 
awakened. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  cramped  and  stiffened  by  his 
long  inactivity,  and  looked  about  him.  Near  by  was  a 
disturbed  spot  of  wide  circumference.  Here  had  the 
struggle  taken  place.  Here,  also,  some  of  the  sand  was 
stained  with  the  blood  of  the  Nubian,  who  had  been 
wounded  by  Rachel.  Fresh  footprints  led  toward  the 
water.  He  followed  them  with  a  wildly  beating  heart. 
There  were  no  marks  of  a  little  sandal.  At  the  Nile 
edge  the  deep  line  cut  by  a  keel  was  still  visible  in  the 
wet  sand.    His  own  boat  and  the  other  were  gone.  All 


LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS  457 

other  signs  had  been  obliterated,  for  the  wind  had  been 
busy  during  the  darkness. 

Across  the  cultivated  land,  or  ra'ther  the  land  which 
would  have  been  wheat-covered  but  for  the  locusts, 
he  saw  the  huts  of  rustics,  and  to  each  of  these  he  went, 
asking  of  the  pallid  and  terror-stricken  tenants  if  Ra- 
chel had  come  to  them.  Gaining  no  information,  he 
went  next  to  Masaarah,  appeasing  his  hunger  with 
succulent  roots  plucked  from  the  loam  beside  the  river. 
The  quarries  were  deserted,  the  pocket  in  the  valley, 
where  the  Israelites  had  pitched  their  tents,  was  as  sol- 
itary as  it  had  ever  been.  There  was  no  place  here  to 
shelter  the  lost  girl. 

There  were  the  huts  to  the  north  of  the  Marsh  and 
the  deserted  village  of  Toora  to  search.  He  retraced 
his  steps. 

As  he  came  again  before  the  tomb  he  went  to  it. 
Half-way  up  the  steps  he  stopped. 

On  a  blank  face  of  the  rock,  sheltered  by  a  jutting 
ledge  above  it,  was  an  inscription,  a  little  faint,  but  he 
ascribed  that  to  the  poor  quality  of  the  pencil  and 
roughness  of  the  tablet.    This  is  what  he  read : 

"Her  whom  thou  seekest  thou  wilt  find  in  the  palace 
of  Har-hat,  in  the  city." 

Perhaps  under  other  circumstances  Kenkenes  would 
have  understood  correctly  the  origin  and  intent  of  the 
writing.  Already,  however,  his  fears  pointed  to  the 
palace  of  Har-hat  as  the  prison  of  Rachel,  and  this 
faint  inscription  was  corroboration.  It  appealed  to 
him  as  villainy  worthy  of  the  fan-bearer.  It  was  like 
his  exquisite  effrontery. 


458  THE   YOKE 

Kenkenes  whirled  away  with  an  indescribable  sound, 
rather  like  the  snarl  of  an  infuriated  beast  than  an  ex- 
pression of  a  reasoning  creature.  Dashing  down  the 
sand,  he  plunged  into  the  Nile  and  swam  with  super- 
human spee^  for  the  Memphian  shore. 

He  defied  death  as  a  maniac  does.  The  river  was  a 
mile  in  width  and  teeming  with  crocodiles.  But  the 
same  saving  Providence  that  shields  the  adventurous 
child  attended  him.  He  clambered  up  the  opposite 
bank  and  struck  out  for  Memphis  on  a  hard  run. 

He  had  but  one  purpose  and  that  was  to  find  Har- 
hat  and  strangle  him  with  grim  joy.  The  rescue  of 
Rachel  did  not  occur  to  him,  for  in  his  excited  mind  the 
simple  touch  of  the  fan-bearer's  hand  was  sufficient  to 
kill  her  with  its  dishonor. 

He  did  not  remember  anything  that  Rachel  had  told 
him  concerning  her  life  in  Memphis,  or  that  Har-hat 
was  in  Tanis,  and  Masanath  like  to  be  the  only  resi- 
dent in  the  fan-bearer's  palace.  His  reasoning  powers 
abandoned  their  supremacy  to  all  the  fierce  impulses 
toward  revenge  and  bloodletting  of  which  his  nature 
was  capable. 

Though  it  was  day  when  he  entered  the  great  capi- 
tal of  the  Pharaohs,  the  streets  were  almost  deserted, 
and  every  doorway  and  window  showed  interiors  bril- 
liant with  a  multitude  of  lamps.  Memphis  was  pre- 
pared against  a  second  smothering  of  the  lights  of 
heaven. 

The  few  pedestrians  Kenkenes  met  fell  back  and 
gave  room  to  the  dripping  apparition  which  ran  as  if 
death-pursued.  One  told  him  on  demand  where  the 
mansion  of  Har-hat  stood,  and  after  a  few  slow  min- 
utes he  was  within  its  porch.    He  flung  himself  against 


LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS  459 

the  blank  portal  and  beat  on  it.  He  did  not  pause 
to  await  a  response.  He  felt  within  him  strength  to 
batter  down  the  doors  if  they  did  not  open. 

Presently  an  old  portress  came  forth  from  a  side 
entry  and  Kenkenes  seized  her.  Fearing  that  she 
might  cry  out  and  defeat  his  purpose,  he  put  his  hand 
over  her  mouth. 

"Your  master,"  he  demanded  hoarsely.  "Where  is 
he  ?  Answer  and  answer  quietly !" 

For  a  moment  she  was  dumb  with  terror. 
.  "Gone,"  she  gasped  at  last  when  Kenkenes  shook 
her. 

"Where  ?  When  ?"  he  insisted. 

"To  Tanis,  eight  months  since !" 

"Was  an  Israelite  maiden  brought  here?  Answer 
and  truly,  by  your  immortal  soul !" 

"Many  months  ago,  aye,  but  she  departed  three  days 
ago  for  Goshen,"  the  old  woman  answered  falteringly. 

"And  she  came  not  back?" 

"Nay." 

"Swear,  by  Osiris!" 

"By  Osiris—" 

"And  the  Lady  Masanath?" 

"Gone,  also,  to  Tanis  with  Unas,  this  morning." 

"Thouliest!    In  the  dark?" 

"Nay,  I  swear  .by  Osiris,"  she  protested  wildly. 
"The  light  came  in  with  the  hour  of  dawn." 

Kenkenes  released  her  and  hurried  away.  He  did 
not  doubt  that  the  old  woman  had  told  the  truth.  He 
had  overslept  the  light.  Unas  could  not  have  taken 
Rachel  and  Masanath  to  Tanis  together.  The  Israelite 
would  have  been  sent  on  before. 


460  THE   YOKE 

There  was  yet  Atsu  to  question,  and  then — on  to 
Tanis  to  rescue  Rachel  or  to  avenge  her. 

He  met  no  one  until  he  reached  a  bazaar  of  jewels 
near  the  temple  square.  An  armed  watchman  stood  be- 
fore the  tightly  closed  front  of  the  lapidary's  booth, 
above  the  portal  of  which  a  flaring  torch  was  stuck  in  a 
sconce. 

"The  house  of  Atsu?"  the  watchman  repeated  after 
Kenkenes.  "Atsu  is  no  longer  a  householder  in  Mem- 
phis." 

"When  did  he  depart?" 

"Eight  or  nine  months  ago,  at  the  persuasion  of  the 
Pharaoh." 

The  lightness  of  the  man's  manner  irritated  the  al- 
ready vexed  spirit  of  the  young  artist. 

"Be  explicit,"  he  demanded  sharply.  "What  meanest 
thou?" 

"He  was  stripped  of  his  insignia  and  reduced  to  the 
rank  of  ordinary  soldier,"  the  man  answered,  "for 
pampering  the  Israelites.  He  is  with  the  legions  in  the 
north." 

"Hath  he  kin  in  the  city?" 

"Nay,  he  is  solitary." 

Kenkenes  walked  away  unsteadily.  The  nervous  en- 
ergy that  had  upborne  him  during  his  intense  excite- 
ment was  deserting  him.  His  hunger  and  weariness 
were  asserting  themselves. 

He  turned  down  the  narrow  passage  leading  to  his 
father's  house.  And  suddenly,  in  the  way  of  such  va- 
grant thoughts,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  inscription 
on  the  tomb  had  been  pointedly  denied  by  the  old 
woman's  statements. 

"Ah,  I   might  have  known,"  he  said  impatiently. 


LIGHT   AFTER   DARKNESS  461 

"Rachel  put  the  writing  there  for  me  when  she  left  the 
tomb  for  the  shelter  Masanath  offered  her  in  Mem- 
phis." 

The  admission  cheered  him  somewhat,  but  it  did  not 
repair  his  exhausted  forces.  By  the  time  he  reached 
his  father's  door  he  was  unsteady,  indeed,  and  beyond 
further  exertion. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE    MURKET'S   SACRIFICE 

The  murket  sat  at  his  place  in  the  work-room,  but 
no  papyrus  scrolls  lay  before  him ;  his  fine  implements 
were  not  in  sight;  the  ink-pots  and  pens  were  put 
away  and  the  table  was  clear  except  for  a  copper  lamp 
that  sputtered  and  flared  at  one  end.  The  great  artist's 
arms  were  extended  across  the  table,  his  head  bowed 
upon  them,  his  hands  clasped.  The  attitude  was  not 
that  of  weariness  but  of  trouble. 

Kenkenes  hesitated.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
hour  he  left  Memphis  for  Thebes,  months  before,  he 
felt  a  sense  of  culpability.  He  realized,  with  great 
bounds  of  comprehension,  that  the  results  of  his  own 
trouble  had  not  been  confined  to  himself.  He  began  to 
understand  how  infectious  sorrow  is. 

He  crossed  the  room  and  laid  a  trembling  hand  on 
the  murket's  shoulder.  Instantly  the  great  artist  lift- 
ed his  head  and,  seeing  Kenkenes,  leaped  to  his  feet 
with  a  cry  that  was  all  joy. 

The  young  man  responded  to  the  kiss  of  welcome 
with  so  little  composure  that  Mentu  forced  him  down 
on  the  bench  and  summoned  a  servant. 

The  old  housekeeper  appeared  at  the  door,  started 
with  a  suppressed  cry  and  flung  herself  at  her  young 
master's  feet.  He  raised  her  and  touched  her  cheek 
with  his  lips. 

462 


THE    MURKET'S    SACRIFICE  463 

"Bring  me  somewhat  to  eat  and  drink,  Sema,"  he 
said  weakly.  "I  have  fasted  since  I  returned  here, 
well-nigh  four  days  agone." 

The  stiff  old  creature  rose  with  a  murmur  half  of 
compassion,  half  of  promise,  and  went  forth  imme- 
diately. 

The  murket  stood  very  close  to  his  son,  regarding 
him  with  interrogation  on  his  face. 

"Memphis  was  full  of  famishing  at  the  coming  of 
dawn  this  morning,"  he  said.  "For  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  knew  hunger,  and  it  is  a  fearsome  thing,  but  thou 
— a  shade  from  Amenti  could  not  be  ghastlier.  Where 
hast  thou  been — what  are  thy  fortunes,  Kenkenes  ?" 

"Rachel — thou  knowest — "  Kenkenes  began,  speak- 
ing with  an  effort. 

"Aye,  I  know.    Didst  find  her  ?" 

"Aye,  and  lost  her,  even  while  I  fought  to  save 
her!" 

"Alas,  thou  unfortunate!"  Mentu  exclaimed.  "Of 
a  surety  the  gods  have  punished  thee  too  harshly !" 

Kenkenes  was  not  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  receive 
so  soft  a  speech  composedly.  A  strong  tremor  ran  over 
him  and  he  averted  his  face.  The  murket  came  to  his 
side  and  smoothed  the  damp  hair. 

The  old  housekeeper  entered  with  broth  and  bread 
and  a  bottle  of  wine.  Mentu  broke  the  bread  and  filled 
the  beaker,  while  Sema  stood  aloof  and  gazed  with 
troubled  eyes  at  the  unhappy  face  of  the  young  master. 
Silent,  they  watched  him  eat  and  drink,  grieved  be- 
cause of  the  visible  effort  it  required  and  because  no 
life  or  strength  returned  to  him  with  the  breaking  of 
his  fast.  When  he  had  finished,  the  bowl  and  platter 
were  taken  away,  but  at  a  sign  the  old  housekeeper 


0 

464  THE   YOKE 

left  the  wine  with  the  murket.  After  she  had  gone 
Mentu  glanced  at  the  draggled  dress  of  his  son. 

"Thou  needest,  further,  the  attention  of  thy  slave, 
Kenkenes,"  he  suggested. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "Not  yet,"  he  said. 
"My  time  is  short,  and  it  is  thy  help  I  need." 

The  murket  sat  down  beside  his  son. 

Without  further  introduction  Kenkenes  plunged  into 
his  story.  He  had  had  no  time  to  tell  it  four  days  be- 
fore. Then  he  had  asked  for  Rachel  with  his  second 
word,  and  finding  her  not,  had  rushed  immediately  to 
the  search  for  her. 

Mentu  heard  without  comment  till  the  story  was 
done.  Most  of  it  he  had  known  from  Hotep,  and  only 
the  recent  events  at  the  tomb  excited  him. 

When  Kenkenes  made  an  end  the  murket  brought 
his  clenched  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a  force 
that  made  the  lamp  wink  and  the  implements  rattle  in 
their  boxes  above  him. 

"Curse  that  smooth  villain  Har-hat!"  he  cried  in  a 
tempest  of  wrath.  "A  murrain  upon  his  greedy,  crafty 
lust !  The  gods  blast  him  in  his  knavery !  Now  is  my 
precious  amulet  in  his  hands.  Would  it  were  white-hot 
and  clung  to  him  like  a  leech !" 

Kenkenes  said  nothing.  The  murket's  wrath  was 
more  comforting  to  him  than  tender  words  could  have 
been. 

"Who  hath  the  ear  of  Meneptah?"  the  murket  con- 
tinued with  increasing  vehemence.  "Har-hat!  And 
behold  the  miseries  of  Egypt !  Shall  we  put  any  great 
sin  past  the  knave  who  sinneth  monstrously,  or  divine 
his  methods  who  is  a  master  of  cunning?  The  land 
is  entangled  in  difficulty!     Give  me  but  a  raveling 


THE    MURKET'S    SACRIFICE  465 

fiber  to  pull,  and,  by  the  gods,  I  know  that  we  shall  find 
Har-hat  at  the  other  end  of  it!  He  is  destroying 
Egypt  for  his  ambition's  sake!  And  that  a  son  of 
mine — me!  the  right  hand  of  the  Incomparable  Pha- 
raoh— should  furnish  meat  for  his  rending!"  His 
voice  failed  him  and  he  shook  his, clenched  hands  high 
above  his  head  in  an  abandon  of  fury. 

"Did  I  not  tell  thee  ?"  he  burst  forth  again,  pointing 
a  finger  at  his  son.  "Did  I  not  warn  thee  from  the 
first?" 

Kenkenes  raised  his  head. 

"Can  you  avoid  a  knave  if  he  hath  designs  on  you  ?" 
he  asked.  "Have  I  erred  in  crossing  his  will  ?  Have  I 
sinned  in  loving  and  protecting  her  whom  I  love  ?" 

Mentu's  hands  fell  down  at  his  sides.  The  simple 
questions  had  silenced  him.  His  son  was  blameless 
now  that  he  had  expiated  his  offenses  against  the  law, 
and  from  the  moral  standpoint  his  persistence  in  his 
claim  on  Rachel  was  just — praiseworthy. 

"Nay,"  he  said  sullenly,  "but  since  thou  didst  love 
the  girl,  how  came  it  that  thou  didst  not  wed  her  long 
ago  and  save  her  this  shame  and  danger  ?" 

He  saw  the  face  of  his  son  grow  paler. 

"The  bar  of  faith  lay  between  us,"  Kenkenes  an- 
swered. "I  was  an  idolater,  she  a  worshiper  of  the 
One  God.    She  would  not  wed  with  me,  therefore." 

The  murket  looked  at  his  son,  stupefied  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"Thou — thou — "  he  said  at  last,  his  words  coming 
slowly  by  reason  of  his  emotions.  "The  Israelite  re- 
jected thee!" 

Kenkenes  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

"Thou !  A  prince  among  men — a  nobleman,  a  genius 


466  THE   YOKE 

— a  man  whom  all  women — Kenkenes!  by  Hortis,  I 
am  amazed !  And  thou  didst  endure  it,  and  continue 
to  love  and  serve  and  suffer  for  her!  Where  is  thy 
pride?" 

Kenkenes  stopped  him  with  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

"A  maid's  unwillingness  is  obstacle  enough,"  he 
said.  "Shall  a  man  summon  further  difficulty  in  the 
form  of  his  self-esteem  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  love  ? 
Nay,  it  could  not  be,  and  that  thou  knowest,  my  father, 
since  thou,  too,  hast  loved.  When  a  man  is  in  love  it  is 
his  pride  to  be  long-suffering  and  humble.  But  there 
is  naught  separating  us  now  save  it  be  the  hand  of 
Har-hat." 

"So  much  for  Israelitish  zeal !  Thou  hast  been  a 
pawn  for  her  to  play  during  these  months.  Long  ago 
had  she  surrendered  if  thou  hadst  been — " 

Kenkenes  smiled.  "She  did  not  surrender.  It 
was  I." 

"Thy  faith?"  the  murket  asked  in  a  voice  low  with 
earnestness. 

"Thou  hast  said !" 

A  dead  silence  ensued.  Kenkenes  may  have  awaited 
the  outbreak  with  a  quickening  of  the  heart,  but  it  did 
not  come.  Instead,  the  murket  sat  down  on  the  bench 
and  gazed  at  his  son  intently. 

After  a  long  interval  he  spoke. 

"Thus  far  had  I  hoped  that  thou  wast  taken  by  the 
Israelite  but  in  thy  fancy.  The  hope  was  vain.  Thou 
art  in  love  with  her." 

Kenkenes  endured  the  steady  gaze  and  waited  for 
Mentu  to  go  on. 

"There  is  no  help  for  thee  now,"  the  murket  con- 
tinued stoically.     "If  the  gods  will  but  tolerate  thee 


THE   MURKET'S    SACRIFICE  467 

till  the  madness  leaves  thee  after  thou  art  wedded  and 
satisfied,  it  may  be  that  thou  wilt  turn  again  to  the 
faith  of  thy  fathers.  But  if  I  would  fix  thee  in  thine 
apostasy  I  should  try  to  persuade  thee  now." 

"Aye,  and  further,  I  should  be  moved  to  urge  thee 
into  heresy,"  calmly  responded  Kenkenes. 

The  murket  flung  up  one  hand  in  a  gesture  of  dis- 
sent, and  arising,  walked  toward  the  door  of  the  work- 
room. There  he  leaned  his  shoulder  against  the  frame 
and  looked  out  at  the  night.  Presently  Kenkenes  went 
to  him  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

The  murket  spoke  first,  proving  what  thoughts  had 
been  his  during  the  little  space  of  silence. 

"There  is  little  patriotism  in  thee,  Kenkenes.  Thou 
wouldst  wed  with  one  of  Egypt's  enemies  and  bow 
down  to  the  God  which  has  devastated  thy  country." 

The  hand  on  his  sleeve  fell. 

"What  did  Egypt  to  Israel  for  a  hundred  years  be- 
fore these  miseries  came  to  pass?"  Kenkenes  asked. 
"Let  me  tell  thee  how  Egypt  hath  used  Rachel.  She 
is  free-born,  of  noble  blood,  even  as  thou  art  and  as  I 
am.  Her  house  was  wealthy,  the  name  powerful. 
There  were  ten  of  her  family — four  of  her  mother's, 
six  of  her  father's.  Rameses,  the  Incomparable  Pha- 
raoh, had  use  for  their  treasure  and  need  of  their  labor 
in  the  brick-fields  and  mines.  This  day  Rachel  pos- 
sesses not  even  her  own  soul  and  body,  nor  one  gar- 
ment to  cover  herself,  nor  a  single  kinsman  to  shield 
her  from  the  power  of  her  masters!  Well  for  Egypt 
that  the  God  of  Israel  hath  not  demanded  of  Egypt 
treasure  for  treasure  seized,  toil  for  toil  compelled, 
lash  for  lash  inflicted,  blood  for  blood  outpoured !  This 
desolation  had  been  thrice  desolate  and  Egypt's  glory 


468  THE   YOKE 

gone  like  the  green  grass  in  the  breath  of  the  Khamsin ! 
And  yet  would  such  justice  restore  to  Rachel  the  love 
she  lost,  the  comfort  that  should  have  been  hers  ?  Nay, 
not  even  the  sorcery  of  Mesu  might  do  that.  The  debt 
of  Egypt  to  Rachel  is  most  cheaply  discharged  by  the 
service  of  one  life  for  the  ten  which  were  taken  from 
her!" 

"Let  be;  Israel  shall  cumber  Egypt  no  longer,"  the 
murket  muttered  after  a  little;  "and  the  quarrel  be- 
tween them  shall  be  at  an  end.  The  hour  approacheth 
when  every  Hebrew  shall  leave  Egypt — shall  be  driven 
forth  if  he  leave  it  not  willingly." 

"Thinkest.  thou  so  of  a  truth?"  Kenkenes  asked 
earnestly. 

"Of  a  truth.  Thou  seest  the  plight  of  the  nation. 
Can  it  endure  longer  ?  And  if  thou  takest  this  Israelite 
to  wife — "  He  paused  abruptly,  for  he  had  pressed  the 
problem  and  a  solution  opened  itself  so  suddenly  that 
it  staggered  him.  Kenkenes  understood  the  pause. 
Again  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  murket's  sleeve. 

"On  this  very  matter  would  I  take  counsel  with  thee, 
my  father,"  he  said  gently.  "The  night  grows,  and 
my  time  is  short." 

Mentu  turned  an  unhappy  face  toward  his  son  and 
followed  him  back  to  the  bench  they  had  left.  He  felt, 
intuitively,  that  there  was  further  grave  purpose  in 
the  young  man's  mind  and  there  was  dread  in  his 
paternal  heart. 

"Thou  knowest,  my  father,"  Kenkenes  began,  "that 
I  may  not  give  over  my  love  for  Rachel.  I  am  free  to 
love  her  and  she  to  love  me.  There  is  no  obstacle  be- 
tween us.  Such  love,  therefore,  in  the  sight  of  heaven, 
becometh  a  duty  and  carrieth  duty  with  it.     In  the 


THE   MURKET'S   SACRIFICE  469 

spirit  I  am  as  though  I  had  been  bound  to  her  by  the 
marrying  priests.  Her  griefs  are  mine  to  comfort,  her 
wrongs  mine  to  avenge. 

"She  is  gone  and  there  are  these  three  surmises  as 
to  her  whereabouts.  She  may  have  escaped  and  re- 
turned to  Goshen ;  she  may  have  wandered  to  death  in 
the  Nile;  she  may  have  been  taken  by  Har-hat." 

He  paused,  and  Mentu  gazed  fixedly  at  the  lamp. 

"I  am  going  to  Tanis,"  Kenkenes  began,  with  forced 
restraint. 

"Wherefore?"  Mentu  demanded. 

"To  discover  if  Har-hat  hath  taken  her !" 

"Go  on." 

"If  he  hath  the  Lord  God  make  iron  of  my  hands 
till  I  strangle  him!" 

"Madman !"  Mentu  exclaimed.  "Thou  wilt  be  flayed !" 

"Be  assured  that  I  shall  earn  the  flaying !  The  pun- 
ishment shall  be  no  more  savage  than  the  deed  that 
invites  it !  But  enough  of  that.  If  I  go  to  Tanis  and 
find  her  the  spoil  of  the  fan-bearer,  thine  augury  will 
hold.  I  return  not  to  Memphis.  ...  If  she  was 
lost  in  the  Nile— !" 

"Nay !  Nay !  put  away  the  thought  if  it  wrench  thee 
so.  No  man  removed  from  his  place  during  that  night. 
We  were  caught  and  transfixed  at  what  we  did.  For 
three  days  I  sat  in  the  court,  where  I  was  overtaken 
by  the  darkness,  and  in  that  time  I  stirred  not  except 
to  slip  down  on  the  bench  and  sleep.  The  palsy  seized 
all  Memphis  likewise — not  one  of  my  neighbors  moved. 
But  the  resident  Hebrews  of  the  city  seemed  to 
have  been  warned,  or  else  the  favor  of  their  strange 
God  was  with  them.  For  it  is  said  they  came  and  went 
as  they  willed,  carrying  lamps." 


470  THE  YOKE 

Kenkenes  looked  at  his  father  with  growing-  hope. 

"If  that  be  true,"  he  said  eagerly,  "if  the  palsy  fell 
upon  Egypt  and  not  upon  Israel,  Rachel  may  have 
fled  safely — she  may  have  escaped  them !"  Mentu  as- 
sented with  a  nod. 

"She  may  have  returned  to  her  people,"  Kenkenes 
went  on.  "And  if  she  be  in  Goshen  I  must  reach  her, 
find  her,  before  her  people  depart.  Having  found 
her — "  but  Kenkenes  stopped  and  made  no  effort  to 
resume.  Mentu  set  his  teeth,  his  hands  clenched  and 
his  whole  figure  seemed  to  denote  intense  physical 
restraint.    Suddenly  he  whirled  upon  his  son. 

"Thou  wilt  go  with  her,  out  of  Egypt?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"I  shall  go  with  her,  out  of  Egypt." 

Mentu  gained  his  feet.  "And  dost  thou  remember 
that  while  I  live  my  commands  are  yet  law  over  thee  ?" 
he  continued  in  a  tone  of  increasing  intensity.  "Mine 
it  is  to  say  whether  thou  shalt  do  this  thing  or  do  it 
not!" 

He  turned  away  and  strode  back  to  his  post  against 
the  door-frame,  his  face  toward  the  night.  Kenkenes 
had  slowly  risen  to  his  feet.  Not  for  an  instant  did  his 
father's  authority  appear  to  him  as  an  obstacle.  He 
knew  that  the  murket's  outburst  was  a  final  stand  be- 
fore capitulation.  Kenkenes  was  troubled  only  for 
what  might  follow  after  his  father  had  surrendered. 

He  followed  the  murket  to  the  door  and  laid  his  arm 
across  the  broad  shoulders. 

"Father,"  he  said  persuasively.  Mentu  did  not 
move. 

"Look  at  me,  father,"  Kenkenes  insisted.  Still  no 
movement.     The  young  man  put  his  arm  closer  about 


THE    MURKET'S    SACRIFICE  471 

the  shoulders,  and  lifting  his  hand,  would  have  turned 
the  face  toward  him.  But  the  palm  touched  a  wet 
cheek. 

The  murket  had  consented. 

An  hour  later,  when  it  was  far  into  the  second 
watch,  Kenkenes  changed  his  dress  and  made  him- 
self presentable.  Then,  without  further  counsel  with 
the  murket,  he  went  silently  and  unseen  to  the 
portal  of  Senci's  house.  After  a  long  time,  for  her 
household  had  been  asleep,  he  was  admitted,  and  the 
Lady  Senci,  perplexed  and  surprised,  joined  him  in 
the  chamber  of  guests. 

With  few  and  simple  words  he  told  his  story,  pic- 
tured his  father's  loneliness  and,  while  she  wept  silent- 
ly, begged  her  to  become  his  father's  wife — on  the  mor- 
row. 

There  was  no  long  persuasion ;  the  need  of  the  oc- 
casion was  sufficient  eloquence  for  the  murket's  noble 
love. 

An  hour  after  the  next  day's  sunrise  Mentu  and 
Senci  repaired  together  to  the  temple,  and  when  they 
returned  Senci  went  not  again  into  her  own  house. 

In  preparing  for  his  departure,  Kenkenes  asked  at 
the  hands  of  his  father,  not  his  patrimony,  for  that 
would  have  been  an  embarrassment  of  wealth,  but 
such  portion  of  it  as  might  be  carried  in  small  bulk. 
In  mid-afternoon  Senci  brought  him  a  belt  of  gazelle- 
hide  and  in  this  had  been  sewed  a  fortune  in  gems. 
The  murket  had  given  his  son  his  full  portion  and 
more. 

At  the  close  of  day,  with  his  face  set  and  colorless, 
Kenkenes  stepped  into  the  narrow  passage  before  his 


472  THE   YOKE 

father's  house.  The  great  portal  closed  slowly  and 
noiselessly  behind  him.  He  did  not  pause,  but  sprang 
into  his  chariot  and  was  driven  rapidly  away. 

At  a  landing  near  the  northern  limits  of  Memphis 
he  took  a  punt,  bade  farewell  to  his  sad-faced  cha- 
rioteer and  pushed  off. 

The  broken  bluffs  about  Memphis,  the  temples,  the 
obelisks,  the  Sphinx,  the  pyramids  melted  into  night 
behind  him.  He  kept  his  head  down  that  he  might  not 
look  his  last  on  his  native  city. 

He  had  reached  that  point  where  endurance  must 
conserve  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


AT   THE    WELL 


Once  out  of  its  confines  the  Nile  divided  its  flood 
over  and  over  again  and  hunted  the  sea  in  long  mean- 
derings  over  the  flat  Delta.  A  few  miles  above  On  the 
separation  began  and  continued  to  the  marshy  coast 
far  to  the  north.  From  the  summit  of  the  great 
towers  of  Bubastis  and  Sais  the  glistening  sinuosities 
of  its  branches  might  be  discerned  for  many  miles. 

There  was  no  thirst  in  the  Delta.  Nowhere  did  the 
capillary,  the  irrigation  canal,  fail  to  reach,  even  now 
in  the  season  of  desolation  and  loss.  Half-green 
stubble,  hail-mown  and  locust-eaten,  showed  where  a 
wheat-field  had  been.  Regular,  barren  rows  were  the 
only  evidences  of  the  lentil  and  garlic  gardens  in  hap- 
pier days,  and  the  location  of  pastures  might  be 
guessed  by  the  skeletons  that  whitened  the  uplands. 
Through  fringes  of  leafless  palm  trees,  stone-rimmed 
pools,  like  splashes  of  quicksilver  or  facets  of  sapphire, 
reflected  the  sky. 

Half-way  between  On  and  Pa-Ramesu  was  one  of 
these  basins,  elliptical  in  shape  and  walled  with  rough 
limestone.  Moss  grew  in  the  crevices  of  the  masonry 
and  about  it  had  been  a  sod  of  velvet  grass.  Black 
beetles  slipped  in  and  out  among  the  stones ;  dragon- 
flies  hung  over  the  surface  of  the  water  and  large  ants 

473 


474  THE   YOKE 

made  erratic  journeys  about  the  rough'  bark  of  the 
naked  palms.  Whoever  came  dipped  his  goblet  deep, 
for  there  the  water  was  cold.  If  he  gazed  through  to 
the  bottom  he  detected  a  convection  in  the  sand  below. 
This  was  not  a  reservoir,  but  a  well. 

Once  only  had  it  failed,  but  then  Hapi,  the  holy  river, 
had  been  smitten  also. 

The  spring  bubbled  up  at  the  division  of  a  road. 
One  branch  led  along  the  northern  bank  of  the  Rame- 
side  canal,  eastward  to  Pa-Ramesu.  The  other  crossed 
the  northwestern  limits  of  Goshen  and  went  toward 
Tanis,  in  the  northeast.  Round  about  the  little  oasis 
were  the  dark  circles  where  the  turf  fires  of  many 
travelers  had  been.  The  merchants  from  the  Orient 
entering  Egypt  through  the  great  wall  of  Rameses  II, 
across  the  eastern  isthmus,  passed  this  way  going  to 
Memphis.  Here  Philistine,  Damascene,  Ninevite  and 
Babylonian  had  halted ;  here  Egyptian,  Bedouin,  Ara- 
bian and  the  dweller  of  the  desert  had  paused.  The 
earth  about  the  well  was  always  damp,  and  the  top- 
most row  of  the  curb  was  worn  smooth  in  hollows. 
This,  therefore,  was  a  point  common  to  native  and 
alien,  the  home-keeping  and  the  traveler,  the  faithful 
and  the  unbeliever. 

The  strait  of  Egypt  was  sore  and  the  aid  of  the  gods 
essential.  The  priests  had  seized  upon  the  site  as  a 
place  of  prayers,  placed  a  tablet  there,  commanding 
them,  and  a  soldier  to  see  that  the  command  was 
obeyed. 

The  soldier  was  in  cavalry  dress  of  tunic  and  tas- 
seled  coif,  with  pike  and  bull-hide  shield  and  a  light 
broadsword.  He  was  no  ordinary  bearer  of  arms. 
He  walked  like  a  man  accustomed  to  command;  he 


AT   THE   WELL  475 

turned  a  cold  eye  upon  too-familiar  wayfarers  and 
startled  them  into  silence  by  the  level  blackness  of  his 
low  brows.  Wealth,  beauty,  age  nor  rank  won  servility 
or  superciliousness  from  him.  The  Egyptian  soldier 
was  not  obliged  to  cringe,  and  this  one  abode  by  the 
privilege. 

He  was  a  man  of  one  attitude,  one  mood  and  few 
words.  The  Memnon  might  as  well  have  been  ex- 
pected to  smile.  The  earliest  riser  found  him  there ; 
the  latest  night  wanderer  came  upon  him.  When  the 
day  broke,  after  the  falling  of  the  dreadful  night,  the 
brave  or  the  thirsty  who  ventured  forth  saw  him  at  his 
post,  silent,  unastonished,  unafraid. 

Once  only  the  soldier  had  been  seen  to  flinch.  Me- 
renra,  now  nomarch  of  Bubastis,  but  whilom  comman- 
der over  Israel  at  Pa-Ramesu,  paused  one  noon  with 
his  train  at  the  well.  The  governor  glanced  at  the 
soldier,  glanced  again,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  rode 
away.  The  man-at-arms  winced,  and  often  thereafter 
stood  in  abstracted  contemplation  of  the  distance. 

Just  after  sunrise  on  the  second  day  following  the 
passing  of  the  darkness,  four  Egyptians,  lank,  big- 
footed  and  brown,  came  from  the  northeast.  By  their 
dress  they  had  been  prosperous  rustics  of  the  un-Is- 
raelite  Delta.  But  the  healthful  leanness,  characteris- 
tic of  the  race,  had  become  emaciation ;  there  was  the 
studious  unkemptness  of  mourning  upon  them,  and 
they,  who  had  ridden  once,  before  the  plagues  of  mur- 
rain and  hail,  traveled  afoot. 

They  were  evidently  journeying  to  On,  where  the 
benevolence  of  Ra  would  feed  them. 

They  said  nothing,  looking  a  little  awed  at  the  sol- 
dier and  puzzled  at  the  stela.     The  warrior  read  the 


476  THE   YOKE 

command  and  the  unlettered  men  fell  on  their  knees, 
each  to  a  different  god.  The  Egyptian  was  not 
ashamed  of  his  piety  nor  did  he  closet  himself  to  pray. 

"Incline  the  will  of  the  Pharaoh  to  accord  with  the 
needs  of  the  hour,  O  thou  Melter  of  Hearts  !" 

"Rescue  the  kingdom,  O  thou  Controller  of  Nations, 
tor  it  descendeth  into  death  and  none  succoreth  it!" 

"Deal  thou  as  thou  deemest  best  with  the  destroyer 
of  Egypt,  O  thou  Magistrate  over  Kings!" 

Thus,  in  these  fragments  of  prayers  was  it  made 
manifest  that  the  worm  was  turning,  apologetically,  it 
is  true,  but  surely.  For  once  the  prescribed  defense 
of  the  Pharaoh  was  ignored.  "It  is  not  the  fault  of 
the  Child  of  the  Sun,  but  his  advisers,  who  are  evil 
men  and  full  of  guile."  And  in  the  odd  perversity  of 
fate  for  once  its  observance  would  have  been  just. 

Having  fulfilled  the  command  and  relieved  their 
souls,  the  four  arose  and  went  their  way,  soft  of  foot 
and  stately  of  carriage,  after  the  manner  of  all  their 
countrymen. 

Next,  descending  with  a  volley  of  yells,  a  rout  of 
the  nomad  tribes,  mounted  on  horses,  came  from  the 
southwest. 

They  were  chiefly  Bedouins,  their  women  perched 
behind  them  with  the  tiniest  members  of  their  broods. 
But  every  child  that  could  bestride  a  horse  was  mount- 
ed independently.  Whatever  worldly  possessions  the 
nomads  owned  were  bound  in  numerous  flat  rolls  on 
other  horses  which  they  led. 

"Hail !"  they  shouted  to  the  warrior,  for  the  desert 
races  are  prankish  and  unabashed.  A  younger  among 
them,  without  wife  or  goods,  drew  his  gaunt  horse 
back  upon  its  scarred  haunches  and  saluted  the  soldier. 


AT   THE   WELL  477 

"Greeting,  bearer  of  many  arms !"  he  said,  and  then 
addressed  a  near-by  companion  as  if  he  were  rods 
away.  "Behold  leaden-toed  Egypt,  cumbered  with  de- 
fense !  Bull-hide  for  shield  instead  of  the  safe  remote- 
ness of  distance,  blade  and  pike  for  vulgar  intimacy 
in  combat  instead  of  the  nice  aloofness  of  the  launched 
spear — " 

"Go  to,  thou  prater !"  interrupted  a  companion.  "If 
thou  lovest  Bedouin  warfare  so  well,  wherefore  dost 
thou  join  thyself  to  the  Israelite  who  fights  not  at  all?" 

"Spoil !"  retorted  the  first,  "and  new  fields,  O  waster 
of  the  air !    Hast  thou  not  heard  of  Canaan  ?" 

"Nay,"  shouted  a  third,  "he  hath  an  eye  only  to  some 
heifer-eyed  brickmaker  among  them !" 

The  soldier  moved  forward  to  the  group  and  ground- 
ed his  pike.  His  attitude  interested  them,  and  in  the 
expectant  silence  he  repeated  the  writing-  on  the  tab- 
let. 

"So  saith  the  writing,"  the  first  speaker  began,  but 
the  warrior  interrupted  him. 

"It  behooves  thee  to  obey.  Thou  art  yet  within  the 
reach  of  the  awkward  arms  of  Egypt." 

"One  against  a  troop  of  Bedouins,"  the  trifler 
laughed. 

"And  there  are  a  thousand  within  sound  of  my 
beaten  shield,"  was  the  harsh  answer. 

"Come,"  said  an  elder  complacently,  "it  does  no 
harm  to  ask  the  alleviation  of  any  man's  hurt,  and  it 
may  keep  us  whole  for  the  journey  into  Canaan."  He 
dismounted,  and  in  a  twinkling  the  company,  even  to 
the  babes,  had  followed  his  example.  Each  dropped 
to  his  haunches,  his  hands  spread  upon  his  knees,  and 
there  was  no  sound  for  a  few  minutes. 


478  THE   YOKE 

Then  they  rose  simultaneously  and,  flinging  them- 
selves upon  their  horses,  departed  as  they  came,  like 
the  whirlwind,  over  the  road  to  Pa-Ramesu  and  the 
heart  of  Goshen. 

These  were  part  of  the  mixed  multitude  that  went 
with  Israel. 

The  dust  of  their  going  had  hardly  settled  before  a 
drove  of  hosannahing  Israelites  approached  from  the 
direction  of  the  Nile.  The  soldier  saw  them  without 
seeming  to  see  and,  moving  toward  the  tablet,  a  four- 
foot  stela  of  sandstone,  planted  himself  against  its 
inscribed  face,  and,  resting  his  pike,  contemplated  the 
west. 

The  ragged  rout  approached,  singing  and  shouting, 
noisy  and  of  doubtful  temper.  A  cloud  of  dust  came 
with  them  and  the  odor  of  stall  and  of  quarry  sweat. 

Want  plays  havoc  with  the  Oriental's  appearance. 
It  acutely  accentuates  his  already  aggressive  features 
and  reduces  his  color  to  ghastliness.  The  approach- 
ing Hebrews  were  studies  of  sharp  angularity  in  mon- 
ochrome, and  the  soul  which  showed  in  the  eyes  was  no 
longer  a  spiritual  but  a  ravenous  thing. 

Being  something  distinctly  Egyptian,  the  soldier 
brought  their  actual  temper  to  the  surface.  They  had 
suffered  long,  but  their  time  had  come. 

The  foremost  flung  themselves  into  his  view  and 
halted,  hushed  and  amazed.  When  those  behind  them 
tried  to  press  forward  with  jeers,  they  turned  with  a 
frown  and  a  significant  jerk  of  the  head  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  man-at-arms.  These,  also,  subsided  and 
passed  along  the  sign  of  silence.  A  leader  in  the  front 
rank  walked  away  and  took  a  drink,  using  his  hands  as 


AT   THE   WELL  479 

a  cup.  The  whole  silent  herd  followed  and  did  like- 
wise, solemnly  and  thoughtfully. 

Presently  the  bolder  began  to  whisper  and  conjec- 
ture among  themselves,  hushing  the  sibilant  surmises 
of  the  humbler  with  a  cautioning  frown.  An  old  man, 
who  could  not  lower  his  voice,  quavered  a  resolve  to 
"ask  and  discover,"  and  started  toward  the  soldier  to 
put  his  resolution  into  effect.  A  wiry  old  woman 
seized  him  and  drew  him  back. 

"Wilt  thou  humiliate  him  with  thy  notice,  meddler?" 
she  demanded  in  a  fierce  whisper.  "See  him  not,  and 
it  will  be  a  mercy  to  him  in  his  hour  of  abasement, — 
him  who  hath  been  balsam  to  the  wound  of  Israel !" 

She  turned  about  and  took  the  road  toward  Pa- 
Ramesu,  the  unprotesting  old  man  trotting  after  her. 
The  crowd  followed,  silent  at  first,  then  softly  talka- 
tive, and  finally,  in  the  distance,  singing  and  noisy 
once  again. 

A  careening  camel,  almost  white  in  the  early  morn- 
ing sunshine,  broke  the  sky-line  far  up  the  road  leading 
from  Tanis  in  the  north.  Very  much  nearer,  to  the 
west,  two  single  litters,  with  a  staff-bearing  attendant, 
were  approaching. 

The  camel  rider  was  a  Hebrew  by  the  beast  that  bore 
him.  Egypt  had  no  liking  for  the  bearer  of  the  Orient's 
burdens  and  small  acquaintance  with  him.  Likewise 
the  litters  were  Hebraic,  for  the  attendant  was  bearded. 
The  soldier  kept  his  place  before  the  stela  and  con- 
templated the  distance. 

The  time  was  not  long,  though  in  that  land  of  dis- 
tances the  camel  had  far  to  come  from  the  horizon  to 
the  well,  until  by  the  soft  jarring  of  the  earth  the  mo- 


480  THE   YOKE 

tionless  sentinel  knew  that  the  swifter  traveler  had 
arrived.  Haste  is  not  common  in  tropical  countries, 
and  the  camel  had  been  put  to  his  limit  of  speed.  A 
commoner  spirit  than  the  soldier's  could  not  have  re- 
sisted the  impulses  of  curiosity  concerning  this  hot 
haste.    But  he  did  not  turn  his  eyes. 

The  traveler  alighted  before  his  mount  ceased  to 
move,  and  undoing  his  leathern  belt  with  a  jerk,  he 
struck  the  camel  a  smart  blow  on  the  shoulder.  There 
was  the  protesting  buzz  of  a  large  fly  and  an  angry, 
disabled  blundering  on  the  sand,  silenced  by  the  stamp 
of  a  sandal. 

"Thou  wouldst  have  it,  pest !"  the  traveler  exclaimed. 
"Thy  kind  is  not  to  be  persuaded  from  its  blood-suck- 
ing by  milder  means.    Ye  mind  me  of  the  Pharaoh !" 

He  turned  toward  the  well,  and  his  glance  fell  on 
the  man-at-arms  for  the  first  time.  He  started  a  little 
to  find  himself  not  alone,  and  a  second  time  he  started 
with  sudden  recognition.  The  well  was  between  him 
and  the  soldier.  He  leaned  upon  his  hands  on  the  top 
of  the  curb  and  gazed  at  his  opposite.  Once  he  seemed 
about  to  speak,  but  the  studious  disregard  of  the  sol- 
dier deterred  him.  Slowly  his  eyes  fell  until  they  were 
directed  thoughtfully  through  his  own  reflection  into 
the  green  depths  of  the  well. 

Although  there  were  ten  years  in  favor  of  the  Egyp- 
tian, there  was  a  certain  similarity  between  the  two 
men.  Both  were  soldiers,  both  black  and  stern.  But 
one  was  a  Hebrew,  no  less  than  forty-five  years  of  age. 

He  wore  a  helmet  of  polished  metal,  equipped  with  a 
visor,  which,  when  raised,  finished  the  front  with  a 
flat  plate.    The  top  of  the  head-piece  was  ornamented 


AT   THE   WELL  481 

with  a  spike.  His  armor  was  complete — shirt  of  mail, 
shenti  extending  half-way  to  the  knees,  greaves  of 
brass  and  mailed  shoes. 

He  was  as  tall  as  the  Egyptian  and  as  lean,  but  his 
structure  was  heavy,  stalwart  and  powerful.  His  fore- 
head was  broad  and  bold,  his  eyes  deep-set,  steel-blue 
and  keen.  He  had  the  fighting  nose,  over-long  and 
hooked  like  an  eagle's  beak.  The  inexorable  character 
of  his  features  was  borne  out  by  the  mouth,  thin-lipped 
and  firm  in  its  closing.  Even  his  beard,  scant  and 
touched  with  gray,  was  intractable.  Here  was  an 
Israelite  who  was  a  warrior,  a  rare  thing — but  splendid 
when  found. 

After  a  pause  he  turned,  and  the  camel  knelt  at  his 
command.  The  litters  had  halted  a  little  distance 
away  under  two  palms  that  leaned  their  leafless  crowns 
together.  The  attendant  was  hastening  toward  the 
well. 

"Joshua!"  he  cried  joyously. 

"Even  I,"  the  Hebrew  soldier  said,  walking  around 
the  kneeling  beast.    "Peace  to  thee,  Caleb." 

The  two  men  embraced ;  the  warrior  imperturbably, 
the  attendant  tearfully. 

"What  dost  thou  away  from  Goshen  ?"  Joshua  asked, 
disengaging  himself.  "The  faithful  of  Israel  have 
been  summoned  thither  from  the  remotenesses  of  Miz- 
raim." 

But  Caleb  did  not  hear,  having  caught  sight  of  the 
Egyptian.  The  recognition  startled  him  as  it  had  all 
the  others,  but  he  did  not  hold  his  peace. 

"Atsu !"  he  exclaimed.     Joshua  checked  him. 

"Vex  him  not  with  attention,"  he  said  in  a  lowered 


482  THE   YOKE 

tone.  "His  fall  hath  been  great,  but  it  hath  not  killed 
his  pride.  He  would  speak  if  it  hurt  him  to  be  unre- 
membered." 

"Hath  he  a  grudge  against  us?"  Caleb  asked  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"Nay,  look  thou  at  the  writing  on  the  tablet.  He 
would  hide  its  command  from  us.  Is  he  not  a  friend  to 
Israel  still?" 

He  indicated  the  characters  on  either  side  of  the 
soldier.  The  words  were  disconnected,  but  the  sense 
was  easily  guessed.  The  command  for  prayers  to  the 
Pantheon  of  Egypt  was  not  hidden,  beyond  conjecture, 
from  the  discerning.  Caleb  saw  the  meaning  of  the 
inscription,  but  looked  to  Joshua  for  further  enlighten- 
ment. 

"He  would  spare  us,"  the  abler  Israelite  said.  "Let 
us  return  the  kindness  and  see  him  not." 

All  this  had  the  Egyptian  heard,  but  his  eyes,  fixed 
so  absently  on  the  horizon,  seemed  to  indicate  that  he 
was  not  conscious  of  his  surroundings. 

Joshua  repeated  his  question. 

"I  was  sent  forth  with  Miriam,"  Caleb  made  an- 
swer. "She  hath  been  abroad,  gathering  up  the  scat- 
tered chosen." 

His  eyes  brightened  and  he  clasped  his  hands  with 
the  gesture  of  a  happy  woman. 

"Deliverance  is  at  hand!  Doubt  it  not,  O  Son  of 
Nun  !   We  go  forth !"  he  exclaimed. 

On  the  camel  were  hung  a  shield,  a  javelin  and  a 
quiver  of  arrows.  Joshua  jostled  the  arrows  in  their 
case  before  answering. 

"Not  as  the  moon  changes,"  he  said  grimly.     "The 


AT   THE   WELL  483 

time  for  mild  departure  is  past  and  the  word  of  the 
Lord  God  unto  Moses  must  be  fulfilled." 

"So  we  but  go,"  Caleb  assented,  "I  care  not.  And 
such  is  the  temper  of  all  Israel — nay,"  he  broke  off, 
conscientiously ;  "there  is  an  exception,  an  unusual  ex- 
ception." 

"There  may  be  more,"  Joshua  replied.  "There  is 
much  in  Egypt  to  hold  the  slavish.  But  the  captain  of 
Israel  hath  called  me,  out  of  peaceful  shepherd  life,  to 
the  severe  fortunes  of  a  warrior,  and  I  go,  no  mile  too 
short,  no  moment  too  swift,  that  shall  speed  me  into 
Pa-Ramesu." 

"And  thou  takest  up  arms  for  Israel?"  Caleb  cried. 
'"Ah !  but  Moses  hath  gloved  his  right  hand  in  mail,  in 
thee,  O  Son  of  Nun !  But,"  he  continued,  uneasy  with 
his  story  untold,  "this  was  no  slavish  content  under  a 
master.  Rather  did  it  come  from  one  of  the  best  of 
Israel." 

"Strange  that  the  lofty  of  Israel  should  regret  a 
departure  from  the  land  of  the  oppressors."  Joshua  set- 
tled himself  on  the  camel  and  the  tall  beast  rose  to  its 
fe*t  with  a  lurch. 

"Even  so,"  Caleb  answered,  patting  the  nose  of  the 
cartel  and  arranging  the  tassels  of  its  halter.  "It  was 
a  quarry-slave,  a  maiden  and  of  gentle  blood  among 
the  nobility  of  Israel.  She  is  in  the  bamboo  litter, 
Miriam  is  in  the  other. 

"We  are  come  from  farthest  Egypt,  fifty  of  us  in 
three  barges,"  he  began.  "To  Syene  have  we  been 
and  all  the  Nilotic  towns.  To  Nehapehu,  and  even 
deep  into  the  Great  Oasis  were  messengers  sent,  for 
we  would  not  leave  a  single  son  of  Abraham  behind. 


484  THE   YOKE 

And  the  masters  surrendered  them  to  a  man !  Was  it 
the  face  of  Miriam  or  the  fear  of  Moses  or  the  might 
of  the  Lord  that  tamed  them?  Hath  Miriam  a  com- 
pelling glance,  or  Moses  a  power  that  came  not  from 
Jehovah?    Nay,  not  so.     Praised  be  His  holy  name!" 

The  mild  Israelite  clasped  his  hands  and  raised  his 
eyes  devoutly.  But  fearful  lest  his  pause  might  fur- 
nish an  opportunity  for  Joshua's  escape,  he  continued 
at  once : 

"We  were  descending  the  Nile,  below  Memphis ;  the 
river  sang  and  the  hills  lifted  up  their  voices.  There 
was  rejoicing  in  the  meadows  and  clapping  of  hands 
in  the  valleys.  We  possessed  the  gates  of  our  enemies 
and  Mizraim  sat  upon  the  shores  and  wept  after  us. 

"Below  Masaarah,  the  darkness  fell ;  the  sun  per- 
ished in  the  morning  and  the  stars  were  not  sum- 
moned in  the  night,  for  the  Lord  had  withdrawn 
the  lights  of  heaven.  But  His  hand  was  upon  the 
waters  and  His  glory  stood  about  us  and  we  feared 
not. 

"And  lo!  there  came  a  call  upon  Him  from  the 
shores  to  the  east.  The  barge  of  Miriam  paused  and 
from  the  land  we  succored  an  Israelitish  maiden.  But 
when  we  would  have  moved  on,  she  flung  herself  be- 
fore Miriam  and  besought  her : 

"•'Depart  not  yet,  for  there  is  another.' 

"  'Of  the  chosen  ?'  the  prophetess  asked. 

"  'Nay,  an  Egyptian,  but  better  and  above  his  kind.' 

"'Of  the  faith?'  Miriam  asked  further.  And  the 
maiden  faltered  and  said,  'Nay,  not  yet — but  worthy 
and  kindly.' 

"But  the  prophetess  bade  the  men  at  the  poles  to 


AT   THE   WELL    .  485 

continue,  saying:  'Shall  we  cheat  Jehovah  in  his  in- 
tent and  rescue  an  oppressor  ?' 

"But  the  maiden  clung  about  the  knees  of  Miriam 
and  prayed  to  her,  while  the  prophetess  said,  'Nay, 
nay'  and  'Peace,'  and  sought  to  soothe  her,  and  when 
at  that  moment  some  one  called  out  of  the  darkness, 
she  put  her  hand  over  the  maiden's  mouth  and  would 
not  let  her  answer.  And  the  barge  went  swiftly  away. 
Then  the  maiden  fell  on  her  face,  like  one  dead,  and 
she  will  not  be  comforted." 

Joshua  drew  himself  into  securer  position  on  the 
camel  and  shook  its  harness. 

"Love!"  he  said  with  a  frown.  "The  evilest  tie 
and  the  strongest  between  Israel  and  Mizraim !" 

"Nay,"  Caleb  protested,  "thou  hast  loved." 

"A  daughter  of  Israel,"  the  warrior  answered 
bluntly.    "Dost  thou  follow  me  into  Goshen,  Caleb  ?" 

"Nay,  we  go  on  to  Tanis,  where  we  shall  join  Moses 
and  Aaron  who  lie  there  awaiting  the  Pharaoh's  sum- 
mons." 

"The  parting  shall  not  be  long  between  thee  and  me, 
then.  Peace  to  thee,  Caleb.  To  Miriam,  greeting  and 
peace." 

The  warrior  urged  his  camel  and,  rounding  the 
stela-guarding  soldier  who  had  stood  within  ear-shot 
of  the  narrative,  he  was  gone  in  a  long  undulating 
swing  up  the  road  that  led  to  Pa-Ramesu. 

Caleb  gazed  after  him  until  he  was  only  a  tall 
shape  like  the  stroke  of  a  pen  in  the  distance.  Then 
the  mild  Israelite  looked  longingly  at  the  Egyptian, 
and  finally  returned  to  the  litters.  These  in  a  mo- 
ment were  shouldered  by  the  bearers  and  moved  out 


486  THE   YOKE 

up  the  road  toward  Tanis.  Caleb  walked  before  them, 
dotting  every  other  footprint  with  the  point  of  his 
staff.  He  sighed  gustily  and  sank  his  bearded  chin 
on  his  breast. 

The  soldier  turned  his  head  as  soon  as  the  attendant 
had  passed  and  gazed  at  the  litters. 

The  Hebrew  bearers  of  the  foremost  were  four  in 
number,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  serving-men  to  noble 
Israel.  The  hangings  of  blue  linen  had  been  thrust 
aside  and  within  was  the  semi-recumbent  figure  of  a 
woman.  One  knee  was  drawn  up,  the  hands  clasped 
behind  the  head,  but  the  majesty  of  the  august  coun- 
tenance belied  the  youth  of  the  posture.  The  eyes  of 
the  woman  met  those  of  the  Egyptian  and  lighted 
with  recognition.  She  lowered  her  arms  and  crossed 
the  left  to  the  shoulder  of  the  right.  It  was  the  old 
attitude  of  deference  from  Israel  to  Atsu.  A  dusky 
red  dyed  the  man's  cheeks  and  he  touched  his  knee  in 
response. 

The  litter  of  Miriam  passed. 

The  next  was  a  light  frame  of  jungle  bamboo,  borne 
by  a  pair  of  young  men.  Its  sides  were  latticed,  with 
the  exception  of  two  small  window-like  openings  on 
either  side.  These  were  hung  with  white  linen,  but 
the  drapings  had  been  put  aside  to  admit  the  morning 
air. 

The  soldier  looked  and  the  shock  of  recognition 
drew  him  a  pace  away  from  the  stela. 

The  head  of  a  young  girl,  partly  turned  from  him, 
was  framed  in  the  small  window.  The  wimple  had 
been  thrown  back  and  a  single  tress  of  golden  hair  had 
escaped  across  the  forehead.     The  countenance  was 


AT   THE   WELL  487 

unhappy,  but  beautiful  for  all  its  misery.  The  lids 
were  heavy,  as  if  weighted  down  with  sorrow ;  the 
cheeks  were  pallid,  the  lips  colorless  and  pathetically 
drooped.  A  white  hand,  resting  on  the  slight  frame 
of  the  small  opening,  was  tightly  clenched. 

The  picture  was  one  of  weary  despair. 

The  soldier,  blanched  and  shaken,  took  a  step  for- 
ward as  if  to  speak,  but  some  realization  brought  him 
back  to  rigid  attention  against  the  stela. 

The  light  litter  passed  on. 

The  regular  tread  of  the  men  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  and  silence  settled  again  about  the  well. 

The  soldier  stood  erect,  gray-faced  and  immovable, 
his  eyes  fixed,  his  teeth  set,  his  hand  gripping  the  pike, 
till  the  insects,  reassured,  began  to  chirr  close  about 
him.  Then  his  lids  quivered;  the  pike  leaned  in  his 
grasp ;  his  jaw  relaxed,  weakly.  He  shifted  his  posi- 
tion and  frowned,  flung  up  his  head  and  resumed  his 
vigil.  The  moments  went  on  and  yet  he  retained  his 
tense  posture.  The  hour  passed  and  with  it  his  phys- 
ical endurance. 

Then  his  emotion  gathered  all  its  forces,  all  the  com- 
pelling sensations  of  disappointment,  rebuff,  heart- 
hurt,  jealousy,  hopelessness,  and  stormed  his  soul.  He 
turned  about  and,  stretching  his  arms  across  the  top  of 
the  stela,  hid  his  face  and  surrendered. 

Around  him  was  the  unbroken  circle  of  the  earth 
and  above  the  blue  desert  of  sky,  solitary,  soundless. 
And  the  union  of  earth  and  heaven,  like  a  mundane 
and  spiritual  collusion,  lay  between  him  and  the  little 
litter. 

The  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs  in  the  distance  roused 


488  THE   YOKE 

him  after  a  long  time,  and  hastily  turning  his  back 
toward  the  new-comer,  he  resumed  at  once  his  sol- 
dierly attitude. 

The  traveler  bore  down  on  him  from  the  west 
and  reined  his  horse  at  the  intersection  of  the  two 
roads.  He  looked  up  the  straight  highway  toward  Pa- 
Ramesu,  then  turned  in  the  saddle  and  gazed  toward 
Tanis.  His  indecision  was  not  a  wayfarer's  casual 
hesitancy  in  the  choice  of  roads.  By  the  anxiety  writ- 
ten on  his  face,  life,  fortune  or  love  might  be  at  stake 
upon  the  correct  selection  of  route.  Once  or  twice 
he  looked  at  the  soldier,  but  showed  no  inclination  to 
ask  advice,  even  had  the  man-at-arms  turned  his  way. 

It  was  one  of  fate's  opportunities  to  be  gracious. 
Here  was  Kenkenes  seeking  for  the  maiden  whom  he 
and  the  soldier  loved,  and  it  lay  in  the  power  of  the 
unelect  to  direct  the  fortunate.  But  Kenkenes  did  not 
know  the  warrior,  ajid  Atsu  had  no  desire  to  turn  his 
unhappy  face  to  the  new-comer.  The  young  man  grew 
more  and  more  troubled,  his  indecision  more  marked. 
Suddenly  he  dropped  the  reins,  and  without  guiding 
the  horse,  urged  the  animal  forward. 

Kenkenes  was  relying  on  chance  for  direction. 

Confused  and  unready  the  horse  awaited  the  intelli- 
gent touch  on  the  bridle.  It  did  not  come.  He  flung 
up  his  head  and  smelt  the  wind.  Nervously  he 
stamped  and  trod  in  one  place,  breathing  loudly  in 
protest. 

The  low  voice  of  his  rider  continued  to  urge  him. 

Perhaps  the  wind  from  Goshen  brought  the  smell  of 
unblighted  pastures.  Whatever  the  reason,  the  horse 
turned,  with  uncertainty  in  his  step  and  took  the  road 
eastward  to  Pa-Ramesu. 


AT   THE   WELL  ^89 

Having  chosen,  he  went  confidently,  and  as  he  was 
not  halted  and  was  young  and  swift,  he  increased  his 
pace  to  a  long  run. 

Meanwhile  far  to  the  north  the  little  litter  was  borne 
toward  Tanis.  And  Atsu,  the  warrior,  did  not  move 
his  eyes  from  the  distant  point  where  it  had  disap- 
peared over  the  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  TRAITORS 

The  morning  of  the  second  day  after  the  lifting  of 
the  darkness  lay  golden  over  Egypt,  blue-shadowed 
before  the  houses  and  trees  to  the  west  and  shimmer- 
ing and  illusory  toward  the  east.  A  slow-moving, 
fragmentary  cloud  had  gathered  in  the  zenith  just 
after  dawn  and  for  many  minutes  over  the  northern 
part  of  Goshen  there  had  been  a  perpendicular  down- 
pour of  illuminated  rain.  Now  the  sky  was  as  clear 
and  blue  as  a  sapphire  and  the  little  wind  was  bur- 
dened with  odorous  scents  from  the  clean-washed  pas- 
tures of  Israel. 

Seti  had  crossed  the  border  into  Goshen  at  day- 
break and  was  now  well  into  the  grazing-lands,  yet 
scintillating  with  the  rain.  The  hoofs  of  his  fat  little 
horse  were  patched  with  wet  sand  of  the  roadway  and 
there  was  no  dust  on  the  prince's  modest  raiment. 
Behind  the  youth  plodded  two  heavy-headed,  limp- 
eared  sumpter-mules,  driven  by  a  big-boned  black. 

Seti  was  not  far  from  his  destination,  an  obscure 
village  of  image-makers  directly  south  of  Tanis  and 
situated  on  the  northern  border  of  Goshen.  The  same 
region  that  furnished  clay  to  Israel  for  Egypt's  bricks 
afforded  material  for  terra-cotta  statuettes. 

Ahead  of  him  were  fields  with  clouds  of  sheep  upon 
490 


THE   TRAITORS  491 

the  uplands  and  cattle  standing  under  the  shade  of 
dom-palms.  Here  and  there  hovels  with  thatches  no 
higher  than  a  man's  head,  or  low  tents,  dark  with  long 
use,  and  lifted  at  one  side,  stood  in  a  setting  of  green. 
About  them  were  orderly  and  productive  gardens. 
Nowhere  was  any  sign  of  the  desolation  that  prevailed 
over  Egypt. 

Seti  looked  upon  the  beautiful  prosperity  of  Goshen 
at  first  with  the  natural  delight  loveliness  inspires,  and 
then  with  as  much  savage  resentment  as  his  young  soul 
could  feel.  Belting  this  garden  and  stretching  for 
seven  hundred  miles  to  the  south,  was  Egypt,  desolate, 
barren  and  comatose.  The  God  of  the  Hebrews  had 
avenged  them  fearfully. 

"They  had  provocation,"  he  muttered  to  himself; 
"but  they  have  overdone  their  vengeance." 

A  figure  appeared  on  the  road  over  the  comb  of  a 
slight  ridge,  and  Seti  regarded  the  wayfarer  with  in- 
terest. 

He  was  a  Hebrew.  His  draperies  were  loose,  vo- 
luminous, heavily  fringed,  and  of  such  silky  texture  of 
linen  that  they  flowed  in  the  light  wind.  His  head  was 
covered  with  a  wide  kerchief,  which  was  bound  with 
a  cord,  and  hid  the  forehead. 

He  was  of  good  stature  and  upright,  but  his  drap- 
ings  were  so  ample  that  the  structure  of  his  frame  was 
not  discernible.  His  eyes  were  black,  bright  and 
young  in  their  alertness,  but  the  beard  that  rippled 
over  his  breast  to  his  girdle  was  as  white  as  the  foam 
of  the  Middle  Sea. 

The  Hebrew  walked  in  the  grass  by  the  roadside 
and  came  on,  his  face  expectant.  At  sight  of  the 
prince  he  stepped  into  the  roadway.    Seti  drew  up. 


49^  .THE  YOKE 

"Thou  art  Seti-Meneptah  ?"  the  ancient  wayfarer 
asked. 

"Even  so,"  the  prince  answered. 

The  Hebrew  put  back  his  kerchief  and  stood  uncov- 
ered. 

"Dost  thou  know  me,  my  son  ?"  he  asked. 

"Thou  art  that  Aaron,  of  the  able  tongue,  brother 
to  Mesu.    Camest  thou  forth  to  meet  me  ?" 

The  Hebrew  readjusted  the  kerchief. 

"Thou  hast  said." 

"Wast  thou,  then,  so  impatient?  Where  is  thy 
brother?" 

"Nay.  The  village  of  image-makers  is  not  safe. 
Moses  hath  departed  for  Zoan."* 

"And  named  thee  in  his  stead.  But  his  mission  to 
my  father's  capital  bodes  no  good.  He  might  have 
stayed  until  I  could  have  persuaded  him  into  friend- 
ship." 

"Not  with  all  thy  gold !"  said  Aaron  gravely. 

"Nay,  I  had  not  meant  that,"  Seti  rejoined  with 
some  resentment.  "If  Egypt's  plight  can  not  win 
mercy  from  him  by  its  own  piteousness,  the  treasure 
I  bring  is  not  enough." 

The  Hebrew  waved  his  hand  as  if  to  dismiss  the 
subject. 

"Let  us  not  dispute  so  old  a  quarrel,"  he  said.  "We 
have  a  new  sorrow,  thou  and  I." 

"Of  Mesu's  sending?" 

"Nay,  of  thine  own  misplaced  trust." 

"What!"  the  prince  exclaimed.  "Have  I  clothed 
thy  kinsman  with  more  grace  than  he  owns  ?" 

*Zoan — The  Hebrew  name  for  Tanis. 


THE   TRAITORS  493 

"THou  hast  put  faith  in  thine  enemy.  A  woman 
hath  deceived  thee." 

"What  dost  thou  tell  me  ?"  Seti  cried,  leaping  to  the 
ground  and  angrily  confronting  Aaron. 

"A  truth,"  the  Hebrew  answered  calmly.  "The 
Princess  Ta-user  is  a  fugitive  charged  with  treason." 

Seti  turned  cold  and  smote  his  forehead.  "Undone 
through  me !"  he  groaned. 

"Not  so,  my  son.  Thou  art  undone  through  her. 
She  betrayed  thee." 

Seti  turned  upon  him  with  a  fierce  movement. 

"Peace !"  the  Hebrew  interrupted  the  furious  speech 
on  the  prince's  lips.    "I  bear  thee  no  malice." 

"I  will  give  ear  to  no  tales  against  the  princess," 
Seti  avowed  with  ire. 

"Thy  blind  trust  hath  already  wrought  havoc  with 
thee.  Let  it  not  bring  heavy  punishment  upon  thy 
head.  Thou  hast  dealt  kindly  with  me,  and  I  am 
beholden  to  thee.  Give  me  leave  to  discharge  my 
debt." 

The  prince  looked  stubbornly  at  Aaron  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  doubt  that  had  begun  to  assert  itself  in 
his  mind  clamored  for  proof  or  refutation. 

"Say  on,"  he  said. 

"The  story  is  long,"  the  Hebrew  explained  mildly, 
"and  the  sun  is  ardent.  There  are  friends  in  yonder 
house.  Let  us  ask  the  shelter  of  their  roof  for  an 
hour." 

Gathering  his  robes  about  him  with  peculiar  grace, 
he  went  through  the  grass  toward  a  low,  capacious 
tent,  pitched  by  a  trickling  branch  of  the  great  canal. 
Seti  followed  moodily. 

A  black-haired   Israelitish  woman,   sitting  on   the 


494  THE   YOKE 

earth  before  the  lifted  side  of  the  tent,  arose,  and  rev- 
erently kissed  the  hem  of  Aaron's  robes.  Her  dark- 
eyed  brood  appeared  at  various  angles  of  the  tent,  and 
at  a  sign  and  a  word  from  the  woman  they  did  obei- 
sance and  hailed  the  ancient  visitor  in  soft  Hebrew. 

After  a  short  colloquy  between  Aaron  and  the 
woman  of  Israel,  the  children  were  dismissed  to  play 
in  the  fields  and  the  woman  carried  the  bowl  and 
basket  of  lentils  out  of  ear-shot  of  her  house. 

"Let  us  enter,"  Aaron  said,  with  an  inclination  of 
his  head  toward  Seti.  He  stooped  and  preceded  the 
young  man  into  the  home  of  the  Hebrew. 

The  prince  saw  the  black  dispose  himself  on  the 
grass  outside,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  sumpter-mule. 

Aaron  sat  upon  one  of  the  rugs,  and  Seti,  following 
his  example,  took  another. 

"Say  on,"  the  prince  urged. 

The  Hebrew  began  at  once. 

"What  I  tell  thee,  O  my  son,  will  soon  be  talked 
abroad  over  the  land.  But  if  thou  hast  a  doubt  in  thy 
heart,  and  art  like  to  question  my  truth-speaking,  there 
are  witnesses  I  may  summon,  such  as  no  wise  man 
will  deny.  And  these  be  Jambres,  and  the  twelve 
priests  of  the  cities  of  the  north,  and  the  innkeeper 
at  Pithom,  also  the  governor  over  the  treasure-city, 
his  soldiers,  and  others,  who  know  the  secret  by  now. 

"I  will  give  thee  the  tale  now,  and  the  proof  there- 
after, if  thou  believest  me  not. 

"Last  night,  I  lay  under  the  tent  of  a  son  of  Israel, 
at  Pithom.  When  I  arose,  two  hours  before  dawn, 
horsemen  began  to  gallop  through  the  city  toward  the 
south.  The  inhabitants  were  aroused ;  there  was  much 
running  to  and  fro,  and  the  inn  was  full  of  lights. 


THE   TRAITORS    ,  495 

"We  approached,  and  when  the  tumult  had  died 
and  the  Egyptians  were  so  full  of  the  tidings  that  they 
were  glad  to  relieve  themselves  even  to  an  Israelite, 
I  asked  and  learned  this  story.  Many  times  after- 
ward, on  my  way  hither,  I  heard  it  from  the  lips  of 
men  whom  I  passed,  so  I  am  not  deceived. 

"Seven  days  agone,  under  an  evil  star,  a  veiled 
woman  came  to  the  temple  of  Bast,  in  the  village  of 
image-makers,  and  made  offerings  to  the  idol.  She 
remained  in  the  shrine,  praying,  for  a  time  without 
reason,  as  though  she  pretended  to  worship,  until  a 
certain  space  should  elapse.  At  the  end  of  the  hour 
in  which  she  came,  another  woman,  closely  covered, 
her  mouth  hidden,  entered  and  knelt  near  her.  In  a 
little  they  arose  and  went  forth  together,  and  Jambres, 
who  is  priest  at  the  little  temple,  grown  suspicious  by 
reason  of  their  behavior,  looked  after  them.  The  wind 
swayed  the  garments  of  the  second  stranger,  and 
showed  the  foot  and  ankle  of  a  man.  Filled  with  won- 
derment, Jambres  laid  aside  his  priest's  robes  and  garb- 
ing himself  like  a  wayfarer,  followed.  They  left  the 
village,  going  east  where  the  road  leadeth  along  the 
canal,  which  is  hidden  by  the  sprouts  of  young  trees. 
Farther  up  the  way  were  servitors  who  waited  for  the 
man  and  woman,  but  the  two  stepped  out  of  ear-shot, 
and  sat  by  the  road  to  talk. 

"Jambres,  hidden  in  the  fringe  of  bushes  behind, 
heard  them. 

"They  laid  a  snare.  And  thou,  O  Prince,  wast  to 
be  trapped  therein." 

Seti's  eyes  were  veiled  and  his  face  showed  a  height- 
ening of  color. 

"Thou  wast  to  come  to  the  temple  in  the  village  of 


496  THE   YOKE 

image-makers  with  treasure  to  give  into  the  hands  of 
Moses.  Thy  message  to  my  brother  was  to  be  deliv- 
ered by  the  Princess  Ta-user.  She  delivered  it  not. 
The  word  she  should  have  brought  came  to  Moses  by 
a  son  of  Belial,  a  godless  Hebrew,  sent  by  Jambres, 
for  the  brotherhood  of  priests  would  have  had  Moses 
come  to  the  temple,  for  their  own  ends.  But  the  serv- 
ants of  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  are  keen-eyed  and  they 
know  a  jackal  from  a  hare.  However,  these  matters 
I  did  not  hear  from  the  people.  Such  secret  things 
are  not  discussed  upon  the  streets.  All  that  I  heard  in 
Pithom  may  be  talked  openly  over  Egypt. 

"The  man  and  the  woman  laid  their  plans,  and  they 
were  these:  Last  night,  the  man  and  his  servants 
were  to  lie  at  Pithom,  and  to-day  they  were  to  meet 
thee  at  the  temple  of  Bast,  overpower  thee,  take  thy 
treasure  and,  with  the  woman,  fly  to  some  secure  place. 
With  the  treasure  they  were  to  hire  them  soldiers — 
mercenaries,  and  take  arms  against  the  king,  thy 
father." 

The  speaker  paused  again.  Seti's  breast  labored 
and  his  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  Hebrew. 

"The  ire  of  Jambres  was  kindled  against  the  plot- 
ters, and  he  called  an  assembly  of  the  priests  within 
short  distances  from  the  village  of  image-makers  and 
laid  his  discoveries  before  them.  They  pledged  them- 
selves to  proceed  to  Pithom  last  night,  which  was  the 
night  they  came  together  in  council,  and  take  the 
traitors.  But  one  among  their  number,  a  young  priest 
who  knew  the  woman,  played  them  false,  entered  the 
city  before  his  fellows  and  warned  the  plotters.  They 
had  fled,  with  the  priests  in  pursuit. 


THE   TRAITORS  497 

"My  son,  the  man  was  Siptah,  son  of  Amon-meses ; 
the  woman,  the  Princess  Ta-user." 

The  prince's  face  took  on  an  insane  beauty.  In  each 
cheek  was  a  scarlet  stain — his  lips  smiled  without  part- 
ing and  his  eyes  glittered.  He  did  not  question  the 
Hebrew's  story.  Something  within  him  corroborated 
every  word.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  with  an  un- 
natural laugh  flung  his  hand  above  his  head. 

"Now,  by  Horus,"  he  cried,  "I  must  get  back  to 
Tanis.    I  would  ask  the  pardon  of  Rameses !" 

Aaron  arose  and  laid  detaining  hands  upon  him. 

"I  did  not  tell  thee  this,  that  I  might  be  a  bearer  of 
evil  tidings.  I  came  forth  to  meet  thee,  that  thou 
mayest  save  thyself.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  bring  mis- 
fortune upon  Israel's  one  friend  in  Egypt's  high  places. 
Return  to  Tanis  with  all  speed  and  take  the  treasure 
with  thee.  Then  only  will  the  intent  rest  against 
thee—" 

"Not  so,"  Seti  interrupted  harshly.  "Wilt  thou  rob 
me  of  the  one  balm  to  my  humiliation  ?  Wilt  thou  de- 
feat me  also  in  the  one  good  deed  I  would  do?  Take 
thou  the  treasure  and  be  glad  that  it  fell  not  into  the 
hands  of  the  wanton.    Let  me  depart." 

But  Aaron  was  planted  in  his  way. 

"Knowest  thou  not  what  they  will  do  with  thee? 
Thou  wouldst  have  given  aid  to  the  enemy  of  Egypt. 
Thou  knowest  the  penalty.  Sooner  would  Israel  make 
it  a  garment  of  sackcloth  and  feed  upon  alms,  than 
yield  thee  up  to  thine  enemies  for  thy  gold's  sake — " 

But  Seti  would  not  hear  him.  "I  care  not  what 
they  do  with  me,"  he  said.  "The  gods  grant  they 
lay  upon  me  the  extreme  weight  of  the  law.  I  go  back 
to  Tanis  as  one  returneth  to  his  beloved." 


498  THE   YOKE 

He  shook  off  the  Israelite's  hands  and  ran  into  the 
open.  There,  he  ordered  the  black  to  give  the  treasure 
over  to  the  Hebrew,  and  flinging  himself  upon  his 
horse,  galloped  furiously  toward  Tanis. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  day  Seti  had  little  memory. 
Once  or  twice  as  he  proceeded  headlong  through  ham- 
lets, he  caught  from  the  lips  of  natives  a  denunciation 
of  Siptah,  a  vicious  epithet  applied  to  Ta-user,  or,  like 
a  fresh  thrust  in  an  old  wound,  a  pitying  groan  for 
himself.  His  shame  had  preceded  him  on  fleet  wings. 
He  hoped  he  might  as  swiftly  run  his  sentence  down. 

None  knew  him  in  the  roadways  and  the  towns  did 
not  expect  him.  The  pickets  on  the  outer  wall  of 
Tanis  halted  him,  but  when  they  beheld  his  face,  their 
pikes  fell  and  with  hands  on  knees,  they  bade  him 
pass.    The  palace  sentries  started  and  gave  him  room. 

He  was  running,  sobbing,  through  the  dark  and  ca- 
pacious corridors  of  the  palace  and  no  man  had  stayed 
him  yet.  Were  they  to  make  his  shame  more  poignant 
by  pitying  him  and  punishing  him  not  at  all?  He 
flung  himself  through  the  doors  of  the  council  cham- 
ber and  halted. 

The  great  hall  was  crowded  and  full  of  excitement. 
Meneptah  had  summoned  the  court  to  the  royal  pres- 
ence. 

In  his  loft  above  the  throng  stood  the  king,  purple 
with  rage.  The  queen,  in  her  place  at  his  side,  was 
staying  his  outstretched  hand.  Below  at  his  right 
stood  Rameses,  the  kingliest  presence  that  ever  graced 
a  royal  sitting.  At  the  left  of  Meneptah,  was  Har-hat, 
complacent  and  serene. 

Out  in  the  center  of  a  generous  space  stood  Moses. 

The  great  Hebrew  was  alone  and  isolated,  but  his 


THE   TRAITORS  499 

personality  was  such  that  a  throng  could  not  have 
obscured  him. 

In  his  massive  physique  was  an  insistent  suggestion 
of  immovability  and  superhuman  strength ;  in  the 
shape  of  his  imperial  head,  there  was  illimitable  ca- 
pacity ;  in  his  face,  the  image  of  a  nature  commanding 
the  entire  range  of  feeling,  from  the  finest  to  the 
fiercest.  There  was  nothing  of  the  occult  in  his  atmos- 
phere. His  intense  human  force  would  have  com- 
manded, though  Egypt  had  not  known  him  as  the  emis- 
sary of  God. 

As  it  was,  when  he  moved  the  assembly  swayed 
back  as  if  blown  by  a  wind.  A  motion  of  his  hand 
sent  a  nervous  start  over  the  hall.  The  nearest  cour- 
tiers seemed  prepared  to  crouch.  Meneptah  did  not 
win  a  glance  from  his  court.  Every  eye,  wide  and 
expectant,  was  fixed  upon  the  Israelite. 

The  pale  and  troubled  queen  strove  in  vain.  Me- 
neptah thrust  her  aside  and  shaking  his  clenched  hand 
at  the  solitary  figure  before  him,  ended  the  audience 
in  a  voice  violent  with  fury. 

"Get  thee  from  me !  Take  heed  to  thyself ;  see  my 
face  no  more.  For  in  that  day  thou  seest  my  face, 
thou  shalt  die !" 

After  the  speech,  the  silence  fell,  deepened,  grew 
ominous.  None  breathed,  and  the  overwrought  nerves 
of  the  court  reached  the  limit  of  endurance. 

Then  Moses  answered.  His  tones  were  quiet,  his 
voice  full  of  a  calm  more  terrifying  than  an  outburst 
had  been. 

"Thou  hast  spoken  well,"  he  said.  "I  will  see  thy 
face  no  more." 


500  THE   YOKE 

Another  breathless  silence  and  he  turned,  the  cour- 
tiers shrinking  from  his  way,  and  passed  out  of  the 
hall. 

At  the  doors,  his  eyes  fell  upon  Seti.  He  made  no 
sign  of  surprise.  Indeed  his  glance  seemed  to  indicate 
that  he  expected  the  prince.  He  raised  his  hand  and 
extended  it  for  a  moment  over  the  boy's  head,  and  went 
forth. 

The  strength  went  from  Seti's  limbs,  the  passion 
from  his  brain,  and  when  Rameses  with  grim  purpose 
in  his  face  beckoned  him,  he  obeyed  meekly  and  pros- 
trated himself  before  the  angry  king. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
before  Egypt's  throne 

The  distance  by  highway  between  Memphis  and 
Tanis  was  eighty  miles,  a  little  more  than  two  days' 
journey  by  horseback. 

Masanath  had  required  two  weeks  to  accomplish 
that  distance.  She  refused  to  travel  except  in  the  cool 
of  the  morning  and  of  the  afternoon;  if  she  felt  the 
fatigue  of  an  hour's  journey,  she  rested  a  day  at  the 
next  town ;  she  consulted  astrologers,  and  moved  for- 
ward only  under  propitious  signs ;  she  insisted  on  fol- 
lowing the  Nile  until  she  was  opposite  Tanis,  instead 
of  taking  the  highway  at  On  and  continuing  across 
the  Delta. 

The  most  of  her  following  walked,  and  she  proceeded 
at  the  pace  of  her  plodding  servants. 

She  spoke  of  her  freedom  as  though  she  went  to  meet 
doom;  she  gazed  on  the  sorry  fields  and  pastures  of 
Egypt  as  though  the  four  walls  of  a  prison  were  soon 
to  shut  out  heaven  and  earth  from  her  eyes. 

She  was  now  within  ten  miles  of  Tanis,  fourteen 
days  after  her  departure  from  Memphis. 

Four  solemn  Ethiopians  bore  her  litter  upon  their 
shoulders,  and  another  waved  a  fan  of  black  ostrich 
plumes  over  her.  The  litter  was  of  glittering  ebony, 
hung  with  purple,  tasseled  with  gold.     At  her  right, 

501 


502  THE   YOKE 

was  Unas;  at  her  left,  Nari.  Behind  her  were  dusky 
attendants  and  sooty  sumpter-mules. 

Her  robes  were  white,  and  very  fine,  but  there  was 
no  henna  on  her  nails,  nor  kohl  beneath  her  lids,  nor 
jewels  in  her  hair.  So  she  would  prove  that,  though 
she  was  a  coming  queen,  she  was  not  glad  of  it.  Hers 
was  not  the  spirit  that  hides  its  trouble  and  enamels 
the  exterior  with  false  flushes  and  smiles.  She  envel- 
oped herself  in  her  feelings.  She  tinctured  her  voice 
with  them ;  she  made  her  eyes  languid  with  them ; 
and  the  touch  of  her  hand,  the  curve  of  her  lips  and  the 
droop  of  her  head  were  eloquent  of  them. 

By  this  time,  she  had  despaired.  There  was  yet 
an  opportunity  to  spend  another  day  covering  the  re- 
maining ten  miles,  but  she  would  loiter  no  longer. 
She  was  tired,  of  a  truth. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  a  company  of  royal  guards, 
under  Menes,  rode  up  from  the  north. 

The  captain  flung  himself  from  his  horse  and  hur- 
ried to  Masanath's  litter. 

"Holy  Isis!  Lady  Masanath,"  he  exclaimed; 
"where  in  all  Egypt  hast  thou  hidden  thyself  these 
fourteen  days?  The  whole  army  of  the  north  hath 
been  searching  after  thee,  and  Rameses  hath  raved 
like  a  madman  since  that  day  long  past  on  which  thou 
shouldst  have  arrived  in  Tanis." 

"I  have  been  on  the  way,"  she  answered  loftily. 
"The  haste  of  the  prince  is  unseemly.  I  would  not 
fatigue  myself  nor  court  disaster  by  incautiousness, 
these  perilous  days." 

Menes  bowed.  "I  am  reproved,  and  contrite.  I 
forgot  that  I  spoke  with  my  queen.  But  I  am  most 
grateful  that  thou  didst  permit  me  to  find  thee,  for 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  503 

Rameses  sent  me  forth  an  hour  since,  with  the  hard 
alternative  of  fetching  thee  to  him  or  losing  my  head. 
But  that  he  was  sure  of  my  success  is  proved  by  the 
litter  he  sent  between  two  horses  for  thee.  Wilt  thou 
leave  this  and  proceed  in  the  other  ?" 

Masanath  answered  by  extending  her  hand  to  him. 

Three  of  the  soldiers  laid  their  cloaks  on  the  earth 
for  her  feet ;  six  others  let  down  the  litter  and  Menes 
assisted  her  into  the  sumptuous  conveyance  Rameses 
had  sent. 

Another  soldier,  after  rapid  and  low-spoken  instruc- 
tions from  the  captain,  whirled  his  horse  about,  saluted 
and  took  the  road  toward  Tanis  at  a  gallop. 

The  six  shouldered  the  litter  of  the  crown  princess- 
to-be,  Menes  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  beside  her; 
Unas,  her  Memphian  train,  and  the  riderless  horses 
were  left  to  bring  up  the  rear,  and  Masanath  continued 
to  the  capital. 

"Perchance,  thou  hast  been  famished  these  fourteen 
days  in  the  matter  of  court-gossip,"  the  captain  said. 
"Wherefore  I  am  come  as  thy  informant  with  such 
news  as  thou  shouldst  know.  For,  being  ignorant  of 
the  infelicities  in  the  household  of  the  king,  it  may  be 
that  thou  wouldst  ask  after  the  little  prince,  Seti,  and 
wherefore  the  queen  appears  no  more  at  the  side  of 
the  Pharaoh,  nor  speaks  with  thy  lord  nor  sees  thy 
noble  father;  and  furthermore,  where  Ta-user  hath 
taken  herself  and  other  things  which  would  embarrass 
thee  to  hear  answered  openly." 

Masanath  roused  herself  and  prepared  to  listen. 
Serious  words  from  the  lips  of  the  light-hearted  cap- 
tain were  not  common,  and  when  he  spoke  in  that 
manner  it  was  time  to  take  heed. 


504  THE   YOKE 

"I  had  heard  of  the  little  prince's  misfortune  and  of 
the  treason  of  Ta-user  and  her  party,  and  the  placing 
of  a  price  upon  her  head;  but  nothing  more  hath 
come  to  mine  ears.    Is  there  more,  of  a  truth  ?" 

"Remember,  I  pray  thee,"  the  captain  replied,  rid- 
ing near  to  her,  "that  I  bring  thee  this  for  thine  own 
sake — not  for  the  love  of  tale-bearing.  On  the  counsel 
of  Rameses,  this  day  the  Pharaoh  sentenced  Seti  to 
banishment  for  a  year  to  the  mines  of  Libya — " 

"To  the  mines !"  Masanath  cried  in  horror. 

"Not  as  a  laborer.  Nay,  the  sentence  was  not  so 
harsh.    But  as  a  scribe  to  the  governor  over  them." 

"It  matters  little!"  she  declared  indignantly.  "The 
boy-prince — the  poor,  misguided  young  brother  sent 
to  a  year  of  banishment — a  lifelong  humiliation ! 
Libya,  the  death-country!  Now,  was  anything  more 
brutal  ?    Nay,  it  is  like  Rameses !" 

"Aye,"  the  captain  replied  quickly,  leaning  over  her 
with  a  cautioning  motion  of  his  hand.  "Aye,  and  it  is 
like  thee  to  say  it.  But  hear  me  yet  further.  The 
queen  and  the  Son  of  Ptah  have  quarreled,  violently, 
over  Seti,"  he  continued  in  a  low  tone.  "The  little 
prince  merited  thy  father's  disfavor,  because  Seti  es- 
poused the  cause  of  Ta-user  in  thy  place,  though  he 
loves  thee,  and  for  that — we  can  find  no  other  reason 
— the  noble  Har-hat  also  urged  the  king  into  the  harsh 
sentence  of  the  little  prince.  For  this  the  queen  hath 
publicly  turned  her  back  upon  the  crown  prince  and 
the  fan-bearer,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  palace  is 
most  unhappy." 

He  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "Hotep  cham- 
pioned  Seti, — for  the  young  sister's  sake,   it  would 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  505 

appear, — but  to  me  it  seemeth  that  the  scribe  hath  lost 
his  wits." 

"It  would  seem  that  he  courteth  a  sentence  to  the 
mines  likewise,  and  he  needs  but  to  go  on  as  he  hath 
begun  to  succeed  most  thoroughly.  And  it  behooveth 
his  friends  to  prevent  him." 

He  took  Masanath's  hand  and,  leaning  from  the 
saddle,  whispered : 

"Ye  are  under  the  same  roof — thou  and  Hotep. 
Avoid  him  as  though  he  were  a  pestilence." 

He  straightened  himself  and  drew  his  horse  away 
from  her  so  that  she  could  not  answer. 

The  captain's  meaning,  though  obscure  to  any  other 
that  might  have  heard  him,  was  very  clear  to  Masa- 
nath.  Har-hat  was  still  holding  a  threat  of  Hotep's 
undoing  over  his  daughter's  head,  lest,  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, she  rebel  against  her  marriage.  She  trembled, 
realizing  how  desperately  she  was  weighted  with  the 
safety  of  the  scribe.  Her  fear  for  him  brought  the 
first  feeling  of  willingness  to  wed  with  Rameses  that 
she  had  ever  experienced.  Distasteful  as  marriage  was 
to  her,  it  was  a  species  of  sacrifice  to  be  catalogued 
with  the  many  self-abnegations  of  which  womanhood 
is  capable  when  the  welfare  of  the  beloved  is  at  stake. 

She  sank  back  in  the  shadows  of  her  litter,  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  and  shuddered  because  of  the 
imminence  of  her  trial. 

So  they  journeyed  on,  till  at  last  Masanath  fell 
asleep — not  from  indifference,  for  her  fears  ex- 
hausted her — but  because  her  mind  still  retained  baby- 
hood's way  of  comforting  itself  when  too  roughly 
beset. 


506  THE   YOKE     . 

She  was  aroused  in  the  middle  of  the  first  watch 
by  the  passage  of  her  litter  between  bewildering 
stretches  of  lights.  She  was  within  the  palace.  The 
soldiers  that  bore  her  were  tramping  over  a  Damascene 
carpet,  and  between  long  lines  of  groveling  attend- 
ants, through  an  atmosphere  of  overwhelming  per- 
fume. The  messenger  had  been  swift  and  the  court 
had  had  time  to  prepare  to  greet  the  coming  crown 
princess  with  propriety. 

After  the  first  spasm  of  terror,  •  Masanath  set  her 
teeth  and  prepared  to  endure.  She  was  borne  to  the 
doors  of  the  throne-room  and  two  nobles  gorgeously 
habited  set  the  carved  steps  beside  the  litter  for  her 
feet. 

Without  hesitation  she  descended. 

The  great  hall  was  ablaze  with  light  and  lined  with 
courtiers.  The  Pharaoh,  with  the  queen  by  his  side 
again,  was  in  his  place  under  the  canopy. 

How  tiny  the  little  bride  seemed  to  those  gathered 
to  greet  her !  In  that  vast  chamber,  with  its  remote 
ceiling,  its  majestic  pillars,  its  distances  and  sonorous 
echoes,  her  littleness  was  pathetically  accentuated. 

Outside  the  shelter  of  her  litter,  she  felt  stripped 
of  all  protection.  She  dared  not  look  at  the  ranks  of 
courtiers,  lest  her  gaze  fall  on  the  fair  face  of  the 
royal  scribe.  She  reminded  Isis  of  her  threat  and 
moved  into  the  open  space,  which  extended  down  the 
center  of  the  hall. 

Har-hat,  glittering  with  gems,  and  rustling  in  snow- 
white  robes,  approached  with  triumph  in  his  face  to 
embrace  her.  But  within  three  steps  he  paused  as 
suddenly  as  though  he  had  been  commanded.  Masanath 
had  not  spoken,  but  her  pretty  chin  had  risen,  her 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  507 

mouth  curved  haughtily,  and  the  gaze  she  fixed  upon 
him  from  under  her  lashes  was  cold  and  forbidding. 

She  extended  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  him.  The 
action  clamored  its  meaning.  Not  in  the  face  of  that 
assembly  dared  he  disregard  it,  but  his  black  eyes 
hardened  and  flashed  threateningly.  The  warning 
given,  he  bent  his  knee  and  kissed  the  proffered  hand. 
He  had  become  the  subject  of  his  daughter. 

She  suffered  him  to  lead  her  to  the  royal  dais  where 
she  knelt.  The  queen  descended,  raised  her  and  led 
her  to  the  throne.  Meneptah  met  them,  kissed  Masa- 
nath's  forehead,  and  blessed  her.  The  queen  embraced 
her  and  returned  to  her  place  beside  the  Pharaoh. 

Masanath  turned  to  the  right  of  the  royal  dais  and 
faced  the  prince.  Thus  far,  her  greetings  had  not 
been  hard.  Now  was  the  supreme  test.  Har-hat  con- 
ducted her  within  a  few  paces  of  the  prince  and 
stepped  aside.  What  followed  was  to  prove  Masa- 
nath's  willingness. 

Rameses  stood  in  the  center  of  a  slightly  raised 
platform,  which  was  carpeted  with  gold-edged  purple. 
Behind  him  was  his  great  chair.  But  for  the  badge 
of  princehood,  the  fringed  ribbon  dependent  from  a 
gem-crusted  annulet  over  each  temple,  his  habiliments 
were  the  same  as  the  Pharaoh's. 

Masanath  gave  him  a  single  comprehensive  glance. 
She  was  to  wed  against  her  will,  but  she  noted 
philosophically  that  she  was  to  wed  with  no  puppet, 
but  a  kingly  king.  With  all  that,  admitting  herself  a 
peer  to  this  man,  it  wrenched  her  sorely  to  acknowl- 
edge subserviency  to  him. 

Hope  dead — the  hour  of  her  trial  at  hand — nothing 
was  left  to  uphold  her  but  the  memory  of  the  good 


508  THE   YOKE 

she  might  do  for  Hotep.  Her  face  fell  and  she  ap- 
proached the  prince  with  slow  steps.  Within  three 
paces  of  the  platform  she  paused  and  sank  to  her 
knees. 

It  was  done.  She  had  acknowledged  the  betrothal 
and  knelt  to  her  lord.  Somewhere  in  that  assembly 
Hotep  had  seen  it,  and  she  wondered  numbly  if  he  un- 
derstood why  she  had  submitted ;  wondered  if  she  had 
saved  him ;  wondered  if  she  could  endure  for  the  long 
life  they  must  spend  under  the  same  roof ;  wondered 
if  the  gods  would  take  pity  on  her  and  kill  her  very 
soon. 

By  this  time,  Rameses  had  raised  her.  He  lifted 
the  badge  of  princehood  from  his  forehead,  shortened 
the  fillet  from  which  it  hung,  so  that  it  would  fit  her 
small  head  and  set  it  on  her  brow. 

The  great  palace  shook  with  the  acclaim  of  the 
courtiers.  Organ-throated  trumpets  were  blown;  the 
clang  of  crossed  arms,  and  sound  of  beaten  shields 
arose  from  all  parts  of  the  king's  house ;  all  the  an- 
cients' manifestations  of  joy  were  made, — and  the  pair 
that  had  brought  it  forth  looked  upon  each  other. 

Masanath  was  trembling,  and  filled  with  a  great  de- 
sire to  cry  out.  All  this  was  manifest  on  her  small, 
white  face.  The  light  had  died  in  the  prince's 
eyes,  the  exultation  was  gone  from  his  countenance. 
He  knew  what  thoughts  were  uppermost  in  the  mind 
of  Masanath,  and  the  tyrant  had  spoken  truly  to  her 
long  ago,  when  he  said  his  heart  might  be  hurt.  His 
brow  contracted  with  an  expression  of  actual  pain 
and  he  turned  with  a  fierce  movement  as  if  to  com- 
mand the  rejoicings  to  be  still.  But  a  thought  de- 
terred him  and  taking  Masanath's  hand  he  led  her 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  509 

down  the  hall  through  the  bending  ranks  of  purple- 
wearing  Egyptians  to  the  great  portals  of  the  hall. 
There,  he  gave  her  into  the  hands  of  a  troop  of  court- 
ladies,  lithe  as  leopards  and  gorgeous  as  butterflies, 
who  led  her  with  many  sinuous  obeisances  to  her 
apartments.  She  had  not  far  to  go.  The  suite  given 
over  to  the  new  crown  princess  was  within  the  wing 
of  the  palace  in  which  the  royal  family  lived.  Masa- 
nath  noted  with  a  little  trepidation  that  her  door  was 
very  near  to  the  portals  over  which  was  the  winged 
sun,  carven  and  portentous.  Here  were  the  chambers 
of  her  lord,  the  heir. 

Within  her  own  apartments,  she  was  attended  mul- 
titudinously.  Ladies-in-waiting  bent  at  her  elbow; 
soft-fingered  daughters  of  nobility  habited  her  in  pur- 
ple-edged robes  ;  flitting  apparitions,  in  a  distant  cham- 
ber, glimpsed  through  a  vista,  laid  a  table  of  viands 
for  her,  to  which  she  was  led  with  many  soft  flatter- 
ies ;  her  every  wish  was  anticipated ;  all  her  trepida- 
tion conspicuously  overlooked;  her  rank  religiously 
observed  in  all  speech  and  behavior.  And  of  all  her 
retinue,  she  was  the  least  complacent. 

After  her  sumptuous  meal,  she  was  informed  that 
a  member  of  her  private  train  had  come  to  Tanis  from 
Memphis,  ten  days  agone,  in  a  state  of  great  concern 
and  had  awaited  all  that  time  in  the  palace  till  she 
should  arrive.  Now  that  she  had  come,  the  servitor 
insisted  on  seeing  the  princess  and  would  not  be  de- 
nied. Troubled  and  wondering,  Masanath  ordered 
that  he  be  brought.  In  a  few  minutes,  Pepi  stood  be- 
fore her.    The  taciturn  servant  was  visibly  frightened. 

"Pepi !"  she  cried.  "What  brings  thee  here  ?" 

"I  have  lost  the  Israelite,"  he  faltered. 


510  THE   YOKE 

"Thou  hast  lost  Rachel !" 

"Hear  me,  my  Lady,  I  pray  thee.  Thou  knowest  we 
were  to  stop  at  the  Marsh  of  the  Discontented  Soul 
to  leave  a  writing  on  the  tomb  for  the  son  of  Mentu. 
So  we  did.  The  Israelite  bade  me  stand  away  from 
the  shore  lest  we  be  seen.  I  put  out  into  midstream 
and  while  mine  eyes  were  attracted  for  a  space  toward 
the  other  shore,  a  boat  drew  up  at  the  Marsh.  I 
started  to  return,  but  before  I  could  reach  the  place, 
the  Israelite — the  man — they  were  in — each  other's 
arms." 

Masanath  clasped  her  hands  happily,  but  the  servant 
went  on,  in  haste.  "It  was  the  son  of  Mentu,  I  know, 
my  Lady.  He  was  wondrous  tall,  and  the  Israelite 
was  glad  to  see  him — " 

"O,  of  a  surety  it  was  Kenkenes,"  Masanath  inter- 
rupted eagerly. 

"Nay,  but  hear  me,  my  Lady,"  the  serving-man  pro- 
tested, his  distress  evident  in  his  voice.  "I  moved 
away  and  turned  my  back,  for  I  knew  they  had  no 
need  of  me.  Once,  twice,  I  looked  and  still  they 
talked  together.  But,  alas!  the  third  time  I  looked, 
it  was  because  I  heard  sounds  of  combat,  and  I  saw 
that  the  son  of  Mentu  and  several  men  were  fighting. 
One,  whom  by  his  fat  figure  I  took  to  be  Unas,  was 
pursuing  the  Israelite.  I  would  have  returned  to  help 
her,  but  the  dreadful  night  overtook  me  before  I  could 
reach  her — and  as  thou  knowest, — none  moved  there- 
after. 

"When  the  darkness  lifted,  I  was  off  the  wharves 
at  On,  where  my  boat  had  drifted.  I  halted  only  long 
enough  to  feed,  for  I  was  famished,  and  with  all  haste 
I  returned  to  the  Marsh.    None  was  there.    I  went  to 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  511 

the  house  in  Memphis,  but  it  was  dark  and  closed. 
Next  I  visited  the  home  of  Mentu  and  asked  if  Rachel 
were  there,  but  the  old  housekeeper  had  never  heard 
of  such  a  maiden.  But  when  I  asked  if  the  young 
master  had  returned,  she  asked  me  where  I  had  been 
that  I  had  not  heard  he  was  dead.  And  having  said, 
she  shut  the  door  in  my  face.  I  think  he  was  within, 
and  she  would  not  answer  me  'aye'  or  'nay,'  but  I  know 
that  she  told  the  truth  concerning  the  Israelite." 

Masanath,  who  had  stood,  the  picture  of  dismay  and 
apprehension  during  the  last  part  of  the  recital,  seized 
his  arm. 

"Hast  thou  had  an  eye  to  the  master  ?"  she  demand- 
ed in  a  fierce  whisper. 

"Aye,"  he  answered  quickly.  "I  have  followed  him 
like  a  shadow,  and  this  I  know.  Nak  and  Hebset  were 
here  when  I  came,  but  they  went  that  same  night,  each 
in  a  different  direction,  to  search  further  for  her.  They 
returned  to-night,  but  I  know  not  whether  they  brought 
one  with  them." 

Masanath  clasped  her  hands  and  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment, a  mental  struggle  evidenced  on  her  little  face 
by  the  rapid  fluctuations  of  color. 

"Get  thee  down  to  the  kitchens,  Pepi,"  she  said 
presently,  "and  if  Nari  hath  come,  send  her  up  to 
me.  Give  thyself  comfort  and  remain  in  the  palace. 
It  may  be  that  I  shall  need  thee." 

She  surveyed  herself  with  a  swift  glance  in  a  plate 
of  polished  silver  which  was  her  mirror,  and  then, 
darting  out  of  her  door,  ran  down  the  corridor  as 
though  she  would  outstrip  repentance  before  it  over- 
took her. 

The  flight  was  not  long,  but  she  had  lost  her  com- 


512  THE   YOKE 

posure  before .  she  started.  Outside  her  doors,  she 
trembled  as  if  unprotected.  Soldiers  of  the  royal 
guard  paced  along  the  hall  before  her  chambers.  The 
lamps  that  burned  there  were  of  gold;  the  drapings 
were  of  purple  wrought  with  the  royal  symbols;  the 
asp  supported  the  censers ;  the  head  of  Athor  sur- 
mounted the  columns.  She  was  a  dweller  of  the  royal 
house.  Far,  far  away  from  her  were  the  unimperial 
quarters  in  which,  once,  she  would  have  lived.  There 
was  her  father — there  was  Hotep — 

She  came  upon  him  whom  she  sought.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  entering  his  apartments.  He  paused  with 
his  hands  on  the  curtains  and  waited  for  her. 

"A  word  with  thee,  my  Lord,"  she  panted,  chiefly 
from  trepidation. 

"I  have  come  to  expect  no  more  than  a  word  from 
thee,"  he  said. 

The  answer  would  have  sent  her  away  in  dudgeon, 
under  any  other  circumstances,  but  her  pride  could  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  this  very  pressing  duty. 

"A  boon,"  she  said,  choking  back  her  resentment. 

"A  boon !  Thou  wouldst  ask  a  boon  of  me !  Nay, 
I  will  not  promise,  for  it  may  be  thou  comest  to  ask 
thy  freedom,  and  that  I  will  not  grant  for  spleen." 

Still  she  curbed  herself.  "Nay,  O  Prince;  I  am 
come  to  ask  naught  of  thee  which — a  wife — may  not 
justly  ask  of — her — lord." 

He  left  the  curtain  and  came  close  to  her.  "Had  the 
words  come  smoothly  over  thy  lips,  they  would  have 
meant  any  wife — any  husband.  But  thy  very  faltering 
names  thee  and  me.  What  is  the  boon  that  thou  may- 
est  justly  ask  of  me?" 

"My  father—." 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  513 

"Hold!  There,  too,  I  make  a  restriction.  Already 
have  I  suffered  thy  father  sufficiently." 

Tears  leaped  into  her  insulted  eyes,  and  in  the  bright 
light,  shining  from  a  lamp  above  her  head,  her  emo- 
tion was  very  apparent. 

"Thou  hast  begun  well  in  thy  siege  of  my  heart, 
Rameses,"  she  said.  "I  am  like  to  love  thee,  if  thou 
dost  woo  me  with  affronts !" 

"I  am  as  like  to  win  thee  with  rough  words  as  I 
am  with  soft  speeches.  I  had  thought  thee  above  pre- 
tense, Masanath." 

"I  pretend  not,"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot.  "And 
if  thou  wouldst  know  how  I  esteem  thee,  I  can  tell 
thee  most  truthfully." 

He  laughed  and  caught  her  hands.  "Nay,  save  thy 
judgment.  Thou  hast  a  long  life  with  me  before  thee, 
and  the  minds  of  women  can  change  in  the  blink  of  an 
eye.  Furthermore,  I  love  thee  none  the  less  because 
thou  art  so  untamed.  Thou  art  the  world  I  would 
subdue.  So  thou  dost  not  give  allegiance  to  another 
conqueror,  I  shall  not  grieve  over  thy  rebellion.  Is 
there  another?"  he  asked. 

"I  would  liefer  wed  with  well-nigh  any  other  man  in 
Egypt  than  with  thee,  Rameses,"  she  replied  deliber- 
ately. 

The  declaration  swept  him  off  his  feet. 

"Gods  !  but  thou  dost  hate  me,"  he  cried.  Panic  pos- 
sessed her  for  a  moment,  remembering  Hotep,  but  it 
was  too  late.  She  returned  the  prince's  gaze  without 
wavering,  though  her  hands  shook  pitifully.  After 
what  seemed  to  her  an  interminable  time,  he  spoke 
again. 


5H  THE   YOKE 

"Perchance  I  am  unwise  in  taking  thee,"  he  said. 
"Perchance  I  but  give  thee  opportunity  to  spit  me  on 
a  dagger  in  my  sleep." 

The  tears  brimmed  over  her  lashes  this  time. 

"Thou  dost  slander  me!"  she  exclaimed  passion- 
ately. 

"Then  I  do  not  understand  thee,  Masanath,"  he  as- 
serted. 

"Of  a  surety,"  she  declared,  withdrawing  a  hand 
that  she  might  dry  the  evidences  of  her  indignation 
from  her  cheeks.  "Take  the  example  home  to  thy- 
self! Thou  hast  been  loved  in  thy  time,  and  if  ever 
there  was  awakened  any  feeling  in  thy  heart  in  re- 
sponse it  was  repugnance.  What  if  one  of  these  women 
had  it  in  her  power  to  take  thee  against  thy  will? 
By  this  time  thou  hadst  been  dead  of  thy  frantic  hate 
of  her,  if  self-murder  had  not  been  done !" 

"Even  so,"  he  answered  with  a  short  laugh ;  "but  I 
will  not  set  thee  free,  Masanath,  if  thou  didst  convict 
me  a  monster  in  mine  own  eyes.  If  thou  art  good 
thou  wilt  love  me  or  do  thy  duty  by  me.  If  thou  art 
base,  I  have  wedded  mine  own  deserts." 

He  took  the  hand  she  had  withdrawn  and  prepared 
to  go  on,  but  she  interposed. 

"Not  yet  have  I  asked  my  boon." 

"I  am  no  longer  in  debt  to  thy  father." 

"I  ask  no  favor  for  my  father  at  thy  hands.  Rather 
am  I  come  to  crave  a  boon  for  myself." 

"Speak." 

"My  father  asked  an  Israelite  maiden  at  the  hands 
of  the  Pharaoh  a  year  agone,  and  she  was  beloved  by 
my  friend  and  thine.  She  fled  from  my  father  and 
was  hidden  by  the  man  she  loved — " 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S    THRONE  515 

"Aye,  I  know  the  story.  Hotep  brought  it  to  mine 
ears  months  ago.  The  man  was  Kenkenes,  and  thy 
father  overtook  him  and  threw  him  into  prison  in 
Tape.   What  more?" 

"The  gods  keep  me  in  my  love  for  thee,  O  my  father ! 
for  thou  dost  strain  it  most  heavily,"  Masanath  thought. 
After  an  unhappy  silence  she  went  on. 

"Thou  hast  given  me  news.  I  know  little  of  the  tale 
save  that  the  day  the  darkness  fell  Kenkenes  met  his 
love  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Nile  opposite  Mem- 
phis, and  there  my  father's  servants  came  upon  them 
and  fought  with  him  for  the  possession  of  the  Israel- 
ite. The  Israelite  is  gone,  and  my  father's  servants  are 
still  seeking  for  her,  and  I  would  not  have  her  taken." 

"Thou  art  a  queen.     What  is  she,  a  slave,  to  thee  ?" 

"A  sister,  my  comforter,  my  one  friend !" 

"Thou  canst  find  sisters  and  comforters  and  friends 
among  high-born  women  of  Egypt.  I  had  laid  Ken- 
kenes' folly  concerning  this  Israelite  to  the  moonshine 
genius  in  him.  But  the  slave  is  a  sorceress,  for  the 
madness  touches  whosoever  looks  upon  her.  Behold 
her  worshipers — first,  thy  father,  Kenkenes,  Hotep 
and  thyself,  and  the  gods  know  whom  else.  She  would 
better  be  curbed  before  she  bewitches  Egypt." 

"It  is  her  goodness  and  her  grace  that  win,  Rameses. 
If  that  be  sorcery,  let  it  prevail  the  world  over.  Give 
her  freedom  and  save  her  spotlessness." 

"Har-hat  shall  not  take  her,  I  promise  thee.  I  shall 
send  her  back  to  her  place  in  the  brick-fields." 

Masanath  recoiled  in  horror.  "To  the  brick-fields !" 
she  cried.    "Rachel  to  the  brick-fields  !" 

"I  have  said.     Her  Israelitish  spotlessness  will  be 


Si6  THE   YOKE 

secure  there,  and  the  reduction  of  her  charms  will  be 
the  saving  of  Kenkenes." 

"Alas !  what  have  I  done  ?"  she  cried.  "I  am  as  fit 
for  the  brick-fields  as  Rachel.  O,  if  thou  but  knew  her, 
Rameses !" 

"Nay,  it  is  as  well  that  I  do  not ;  she  might  bewitch 
me.  And  seeing  that  she  is  born  of  slaves,  how  shall 
she  be  pampered  above  her  parents?  Put  the  folly 
from  thy  mind,  Masanath,  and  trouble  me  not  concern- 
ing a  single  slave.  Shall  I  let  one  go,  seeing  that  I  am 
holding  the  body  at  the  sacrifice  of  Egypt  ?" 

Great  was  Masanath's  distress  to  make  her  seize 
him  so  beseechingly. 

"Turn  not  away,  my  Lord,"  she  begged.  "See  what 
havoc  I  have  wrought  for  Rachel  when  I  sought  to 
help  her.  And  behold  the  honesty  of  thy  boast  of  love 
for  me.    My  first  boon  and  thou  dost  deny  it !" 

He  laughed,  and  slipping  an  arm  about  her,  pressed 
her  to  him. 

"First  am  I  a  king — next  a  lover,"  he  said.  "Thy 
prayer  seeketh  to  come  between  me  and  my  rule  over 
the  Israelites.  Ask  for  something  which  hath  naught 
to  do  with  my  scepter." 

"Surely  if  thou  sendest  her  to  the  brick-fields  Ken- 
kenes will  go  into  slavery  with  her,"  she  persisted, 
enduring  his  clasp  in  the  hope  that  he  might  soften. 

"Then  it  were  time  for  the  dreamer  to  be  awakened 
by  his  prince." 

"Thou  wilt  not  come  between  them!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Nay,  no  need.  Seven  days  of  the  lash  and  the  sun 
of  the  slave-world  will  heal  Kenkenes." 


BEFORE   EGYPT'S   THRONE  517 

"Thou  shalt  see!"  Masanath  declared,  endeavoring 
to  free  herself.  "And  the  gods  judge  thee  for  thy 
savage  use  of  maidenhood  !" 

Again  he  laughed,  and  this  time  he  kissed  her  in 
spite  of  her  resistance. 

"The  gods  judge  me  rather  for  this  sweeter  use  of 
maidenhood,"  he  said.  "Let  them  continue  to  prosper 
me  in  it  and  hasten  the  day  of  her  willingness.  Mean- 
while," he  continued,  still  holding  her,  as  if  he  enjoyed 
the  mastery  over  her,  "get  thee  back  to  thy  sleep  and 
put  the  thought  of  slaves  out  of  thy  mind.  To-morrow 
thou  settest  thy  feet  in  the  path  to  the  throne;  to- 
morrow there  will  be  ceremonies  and  prayers  and 
blessings  out  of  number;  and  to-morrow  sunset  thou 
art  no  longer  betrothed  but  a  bride !  My  bride ! 
Go  now,  and  be  proud  of  me  if  thou  canst  not  love  me !" 

He  released  her  and,  as  he  entered  his  apartments, 
lifted  the  curtain  and  stood  for  an  instant  looking 
back  at  her. 

Masanath  saw  him  through  her  despairing  tears — 
strong,  immovable,  terrible — in  his  youth  and  his  pur- 
poses and  his  capabilities. 

Then  the  curtain  fell  behind  him. 

Crushed  and  stunned  with  despair  and  horror,  she 
made  her  way  to  her  apartments  in  a  mist  of  tears. 

There  was  no  help  for  the  beloved  Rachel  or  for 
the  young  lover.  All  whom  she  might  ask  to  ap- 
proach the  king  in  their  favor  were  helpless  or  preju- 
diced. Seti  was  disgraced ;  the  queen,  useless ;  Hotep, 
already  too  imminently  imperiled;  Rameses,  Har-hat, 
against  the  lovers;  and  the  king — the  poor,  feeble 
king,  hopelessly  beyond  any  appeal  that  she  might 
direct  to  him. 


518  THE   YOKE 

A  sorry  resolve  shaped  itself  in  her  mind.  To-mor- 
row at  dawn  she  also  would  put  forth  searchers,  and 
finding  Rachel,  send  her  out  of  Egypt,  and  Kenkenes 
after  her. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE    FIRST-BORN 


At  the  door  of  her  apartments  Masanath  was  met 
by  the  faithful  Nari,  who  drew  her  within  and  showed 
her  triumphantly  that  the  usurping  ladies-in-waiting 
had  departed.  The  unhappy  girl  was  grateful  for  the 
change.  The  relief  for  her  sorrow  was  its  expression, 
and  she  dreaded  the  restraint  put  upon  her  by  the  pres- 
ence of  discerning  and  unfamiliar  eyes. 

All  desire  for  sleep  had  left  her.  Nari,  weary  and 
heavy-headed,  begged  her  to  retire,  but  she  would  not. 
So  at  last  the  waiting  woman,  at  her  mistress'  com- 
mand, lay  down  and  slept. 

The  apartment  consisted  of  two  chambers  running 
the  width  of  the  palace.  The  outer  chamber  had  a  win- 
dow opening  on  the  streets  of  Tanis,  the  inner  looked 
into  the  palace  courtyard. 

Masanath  wrapped  a  woolen  mantle  about  her  and 
sat  at  the  window  overlooking  the  park. 

Without  was  the  wide  hollow,  walled  by  the  many- 
galleried  stories  of  the  king's  house.  Below  a  fountain 
of  running  water,  issuing  from  an  ibis-bill  of  bronze, 
and  falling  into  a  pool,  purled  and  splashed  and  talked 
on  and  on  to  itself. 

Above,  the  mighty  constellations  were  dropping 
slowly  down  the  west.    The  wild  north  wind  from  the 

519 


520  THE  YOKE 

sea  strove  against  her  cheek.  The  gods  were  too  ab- 
sorbed in  great  things,  the  shifting  of  the  heavens,  the 
flight  of  the  wind  and  the  rocking  of  the  waters,  to 
care  for  her  great  burden  of  trouble.  Or,  indeed,  were 
they  not  prejudiced  against  her  as  all  the  world  was? 
They  had  heard  every  prayer  but  hers.  They  had 
harkened  to  Rameses  when  he  asked  for  her  at  their 
hands;  they  had  harkened  to  her  father  and  yielded 
him  power  at  her  sacrifice;  they  had  even  pitied 
Rachel ;  they  had  returned  her  love  from  Amenti,  and 
yet  had  not  Rachel  reviled  them  ?  Nay,  there  was  con- 
spiracy laid  against  her  by  the  Pantheon,  and  what  had 
she  done  to  deserve  it? 

In  some  one  of  the  many  windows  that  looked  into 
the  court  another  dragged  at  his  chestnut  locks  and 
execrated  gods  and  men  because  of  their  hardness  of 
heart. 

So  the  night  wore  on  to  its  noon. 

Masanath  was  becoming  drowsy  in  spite  of  her  de- 
termination to  keep  a  sleepless  vigil  until  dawn,  when 
she  was  aroused  by  a  commotion  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
palace.    There  were  indoor  cries  and  shouts  for  help. 

"A  brawl,"  she  thought.  But  the  noise  seemed  to 
emerge  into  the  street,  and  there  came  the  sound  of 
flying  footsteps  and  frantic  knocks  upon  doors  with- 
out. The  sound  seemed  to  swell  and  spread  abroad, 
widening  and  heightening.  Wild  shrieks  and  husky 
broken  shouts  swept  up  from  all  quarters  of  the  town, 
and  the  whole  air  was  full  of  a  vast  murmur  of  many 
voices,  calling  and  wailing,  excited,  tremulous  and 
full  of  fear. 

Masanath  passed  into  the  outer  room  to  the  window 
that  looked  upon  the  city. 


THE    FIRST-BORN  521 

Every  house  had  a  light,  which  flickered  and  ap- 
peared at  this  window  and  that,  and  the  streets  were 
full  of  flying  messengers,  who  cried  out  as  they  ran. 
Now  and  then  a  chariot,  drawn  at  full  speed,  dashed 
past,  and  by  the  fluttering  robes  of  the  occupants 
Masanath  guessed  them  to  be  physicians.  All  Tanis 
was  in  uproar,  and  its  alarm  possessed  her  at  once. 

She  turned  to  awaken  Nari,  when  she  heard  inside 
the  palace  excited  words  and  hurrying  feet.  Some  one 
ran,  barefoot,  past  her  door,  calling  under  his  breath 
upon  the  gods.  At  that  moment  an  incisive  shriek  cut 
the  increasing  murmur  in  the  palace  and  died  away 
in  a  long  shuddering  wail  of  grief. 

"Awake,  awake,  Nari !"  Masanath  cried,  shaking  the 
sleeping  woman.  "Something  has  befallen  the  city. 
It  is  in  the  palace  and  everywhere." 

Meanwhile  a  chorus  of  screams  smote  upon  her  ears 
and  the  wild  outcries  of  men  filled  the  great  palace 
with  terrifying  clamor. 

Masanath,  shaking  with  dread,  wrung  her  hands 
and  wept.    Nari,  stupid  with  fear,  sat  up  and  listened. 

Presently  some  one  came  running  and  beat,  with 
frenzied  hands,  upon  the  door. 

"Open !  Open !  In  the  name  of  Osiris !"  cried  a 
voice  which,  though  it  quaked  with  consternation,  Ma- 
sanath recognized  as  her  father's. 

She  flew  to  the  door  and  wrenched  it  open.  Har-hat, 
half-dressed,  stood  before  it. 

"Father,  what  manner  of  sending  is  this?"  she 
cried. 

"Death !"  he  panted.  "Come  with  me !"  He  caught 
her  arm  and  ran,  dragging  her  after  him  down  the 
corridor,  half-lighted,  but  murmurous  with  sound. 


522  THE   YOKE 

"What  is  it,  father?"  she  begged  as  he  hurried  her 
on. 

"The  gods  only  know.  Rameses  hath  been  smitten 
and  is  dying,  or  even  now  is  dead !" 

"Rameses !"  she  breathed  in  a  terrified  whisper. 
"Rameses !  And  an  hour  ago  I  talked  with  him — so 
strong,  so  resolute,  so  full  of  life — O  Holy  Isis !" 

"It  is  a  pestilence  sent  by  Mesu.  The  whole  city  is 
afflicted.    Ptah  shield  us !" 

The  hangings  that  covered  the  entrance  to  each  suite 
of  chambers  had  been  thrown  aside  and  the  interiors 
were  vacant.  But  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  was  filled 
with  terrified  courtiers  in  all  attitudes  and  degrees  of 
extravagant  demonstration  of  grief.  Men  and  women 
were  fallen  here  and  there  on  the  pavement  or  sup- 
porting themselves  by  pillar  and  wall,  wailing,  tear- 
ing their  hair,  wounding  their  faces,  rending  their 
garments. 

All  the  dwellers  of  the  palace  were  flocked  about 
the  apartments  of  Rameses.  From  the  entrance  into 
these  chambers  issued  sounds  of  the  wildest  nature. 
Masanath  heard  and  attempted  to  draw  away  from  the 
fan-bearer. 

"Take  me  not  into  that  awful  place !"  she  pleaded. 
"How  canst  thou  force  me,  my  father !" 

But  Har-hat  did  not  seem  to  hear  and  pushed  his 
way,  still  dragging  her  through  the  crush  of  shaking 
attendants  that  crowded  into  the  outer  chambers. 

The  sleeping-room  of  the  heir  was  the  focal  spot  of 
violent  sorrow. 

The  royal  pair,  the  king's  ministers,  the  immediate 
companions   of   Rameses,   the   high   priest    from   the 


THE    FIRST-BORN  ,  523 

Rameside  temple  to  Set  at  Tanis  and  a  corps  of  leeches 
were  present.    The  couch  was  surrounded. 

Seti  was  not  present,  for  only  in  the  last  moment 
had  some  one  realized  that  the  young  prince  should 
be  brought.  Hotep  had  gone  to  conduct  him  to  the 
chamber. 

The  queen,  inert  and  lifeless,  lay  on  the  floor  at  the 
foot  of  the  prince's  bed.  Most  of  the  physicians  bent 
over  her.  Her  women,  chiefly  the  wives  of  the  minis- 
ters, were  hysterical  and  helpless. 

But  it  was  Meneptah  who  froze  the  hearts  of  his 
courtiers  with  horror. 

Because  of  his  obstinacy  Egypt  had  gone  down  into 
famine,  pestilence  and  destruction.  Without  more  than 
ordinary  concern  he  had  watched  the  hand  of  the 
scourge  pursue  it  into  ruin  till  what  time  he  should 
relent,  and  he  had  not  relented. 

But  now  that  dread  Hand  had  entered  within  the 
boundaries  of  his  loves  and  had  smitten  Rameses,  his 
heir,  his  idol ! 

The  effect  upon  him  was  terrible.  The  death  cham- 
ber rang  like  a  torture  dungeon.  Nechutes  and  Menes, 
by  united  efforts,  barely  prevented  him  from  doing  self- 
murder.  The  earnest  attempts  of  the  priest  to  quiet 
him  were  totally  useless.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  shocking. 

The  violent  scene  wrought  Masanath's  already  over- 
strained nerves  to  the  highest  pitch  of  distress.  The 
blood  congealed  in  her  veins  and  her  steps  lagged,  but 
Har-hat,  for  some  purpose  not  apparent  to  any  who 
looked  upon  his  daughter's  anguish,  drew  her  to  the 
very  side  of  the  couch.     The  leeches,  who  had  been 


$24  THE   YOKE 

vainly  seeking  for  some  flicker  of  life,  stepped  aside 
and  the  eyes  of  the  cowering  girl  fell  on  the  prince. 

Rameses  had  seen  the  Hand  that  smote  him. 

The  look  on  the  frozen  features  completed  the  un- 
doing of  Masanath's  self-control  and  she  collapsed  be- 
side the  bed,  utterly  prostrated. 

Hotep  entered  with  Seti.  The  boy  prince's  face  was 
inflamed  with  much  weeping,  and  he  flung  himself 
upon  the  cold  clay  of  Rameses,  forgetting  wholly  that 
the  older  brother  had  urged  the  passage  of  a  harsh  sen- 
tence upon  his  young  head. 

The  courtiers,  who  had  stoically  witnessed  Menep- 
tah's  frantic  grief,  turned  now  and  hid  their  blinded 
eyes.  Hotep  went  to  the  Pharaoh  and  laid  his  hand 
on  the  monarch's  shoulder.  The  action  commanded. 
Exhausted  by  his  frenzy,  Meneptah  leaned  against  his 
scribe.  The  cup-bearer  and  the  captain  released  him 
and  Hotep  spoke  quietly. 

"Seest  thou,  O  my  King,  the  sorrow  of  thy  people? 
Behold  thy  young  son  and  pity  him.  Look  upon  thy 
queen  and  comfort  her.  If  thou,  their  staff,  art  broken, 
who  shall  bear  them  up  in  their  sorrow?  Break  not. 
Be  thou  as  the  strong  father  of  thy  great  son,  so  that 
from  the  bosom  of  Osiris  he  may  look  upon  Egypt 
and  sleep  well,  seeing  that  in  his  loss  his  kingdom  lost 
not  her  prop  and  stay,  her  king,  also." 

The  scanty  manhood  of  the  monarch,  thus  ably  in- 
voked, responded  somewhat.  He  raised  himself  and 
permitted  Hotep  to  conduct  him  to  the  side  of  the  boy 
prince.  Seti  fell  down  at  his  father's  feet,  and  Hotep 
took  Meneptah's  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  bowed  head. 

"Thou  dost  pardon  him,  O  Son  of  Ptah,"  the  scribe 


THE   FIRST-BORN  525 

said  in  the  same  quiet  voice.  The  king  nodded  weakly 
and  wept  afresh.  After  the  prince  had  clasped  his 
father's  knees  and  covered  the  hand  with  kisses,  he 
obeyed  the  scribe's  sign  and  went  away  to  his  mother's 
side.  Again  Hotep,  compelling  by  his  low  voice,  spoke 
to  the  king  and  the  assembly  listened. 

"The  gods  have  not  limited  the  darts  of  affliction  to 
thee,  O  Son  of  Ptah.  Rameses  journeyed  not  alone 
into  Amenti.  He  took  a  kingdom  with  him.  Behold, 
the  Hebrew  hath  loosed  his  direst  plague  upon  Egypt, 
and  by  the  lips  of  an  Israelite,  in  the  streets,  every  first- 
born in  thy  realm  perished  in  the  home  of  his  father 
this  night !" 

The  entire  assembly  cried  out,  and  most  of  them 
ran  sobbing  and  praying  from  the  chamber.  Instantly 
the  outcry  and  clamor  in  the  palace  broke  forth  again, 
for  the  inhabitants  knew  that  the  blow  which  had  smit- 
ten Rameses  had  fallen  on  one  of  their  own. 

Meneptah  staggered  away  from  Hotep,  his  frenzy 
upon  him  again. 

"Send  them  hither,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  waving  his 
arms  toward  a  white-faced  courtier  that  had  stood  his 
ground.  "Send  them  hither — the  Hebrews,  Mesu  and 
Aaron !  Israel  shall  depart,  before  they  make  me  sink 
the  world !  For  they  have  sent  madness  upon  me !  I 
condemned  my  gentle  son,  I  punished  those  who  gave 
me  wise  counsel,  I  have  ruined  Egypt,  I  have  slain 
mine  heir,  and  now  the  blood  of  the  first-born  of  all 
my  kingdom  is  upon  my  head !"  His  voice  rose  to  a 
shriek,  ^nd  Hotep,  putting  an  arm  about  him,  hushed 
him  with  gentle  authority  and  signed  the  courtier  to 
obey. 


526  THE   YOKE 

The  physicians  lifted  the  queen  and  bore  her  away. 
Seti  stopped  at  Masanath's  side  and  looked  at  her  with 
compassion  in  his  eyes.    Har-hat  came  to  him. 

"Seeing  that  thou  hast  won  the  pardon  of  thy  father, 
am  I  not  also  included  in  the  restoration  of  good  feel- 
ing?   Have  I  won  thine  enmity,  my  Prince?" 

"I  hold  naught  against  thee,  O  Har-hat,  but  thou 
hast  not  been  a  profitable  counselor  to  my  father  in 
these  days  of  his  great  need."  The  young  prince  spoke 
frankly  and  returned  the  comprehending  gaze  of  the 
fan-bearer.  Har-hat's  eyes  fell  on  his  daughter,  and 
again  on  the  prince.  Slow  discomfiture  overspread 
his  features.  Rameses  was  dead  and  with  him  died 
the  fan-bearer's  hold  upon  his  position.  Seti  was 
arisen  in  the  heir's  place,  with  all  the  heir's  enmity  to 
him.  But  from  Seti  he  could  not  purchase  security 
with  Masanath. 

Hotep  supported  Meneptah  out  of  the  death  chamber, 
for  the  court  paraschites  were  already  hiding  in  the 
shadows  of  the  great  halls  without.  The  bed-chamber 
slowly  emptied.  Har-hat  lifted  Masanath  and  followed 
the  last  out-going  courtier. 

Another  tumult  had  arisen  in  the  great  corridor, 
an  uproar  of  another  nature  that  advanced  from  the 
entrance  hall  of  the  palace.  There  were  cries  of  sup- 
plication, persuasion,  urging,  that  were  frantic  in  their 
earnestness.  The  whole  palace  seemed  to  be  on  its 
knees. 

Hotep,  with  the  king,  had  paused,  and  several  cour- 
tiers went  before  him  and  looked  down  the  cross  cor- 
ridor.   Instantly  they  fell  on  their  knees,  crying  out : 

"Ye  have  the  leave  of  the  powers  of  Egypt !    Go ! 


THE   FIRST-BORN  527 

Make  haste !  Take  your  flocks,  all  that  is  yours !  Aye, 
strip  us  even,  if  ye  will !  But  let  not  the  sun  rise  upon 
you  in  Egypt !    For  we  be  all  dead  men !" 

A  murmur  ran  through  the  ministers.  "The  He- 
brews !" 

They  came  slowly,  side  by  side,  the  two  brothers. 
Egyptians  in  all  attitudes  of  entreaty  cumbered  their 
path — Egyptians,  born  to  the  purple,  rich,  proud, 
powerful,  on  their  faces  to  enslaved  Israel ! 

Meneptah  wrenched  himself  from  Hotep's  sustain- 
ing arms  and,  staggering  forward,  all  but  on  his  knees, 
met  them. 

"Rise  up  and  get  you  forth  from  among  my  people," 
he  besought  them,  "both  ye  and  the  children  of  Israel, 
and  go  and  serve  the  Lord  as  ye  have  said.  Also  take 
your  flocks  and  your  herds  as  ye  have  said,  and  be  gone ; 
and  bless  me  also !" 

Great  was  the  fall  for  a  Pharaoh  to  pray  a  blessing 
from  the  hands  of  a  slave;  great  was  his  humility  to 
kneel  to  them.  But  there  was  no  triumph,  no  exulta- 
tion on  the  faces  of  the  Hebrews.  Aaron,  with  his 
bearded  chin  on  his  breast,  looked  down  on  the  head  of 
the  shuddering,  pleading  monarch;  but  Moses,  after 
sad  contemplation  of  the  humbled  king,  raised  his 
splendid  head  and  gazed  with  kindling  eyes  at  Har-hat. 

Then  with  the  words,  "It  is  well,"  spoken  without 
animation,  he  turned  and,  with  his  brother,  disappeared 
into  the  dusk  of  the  long  corridor.  The  expression, 
the  act,  the  mode  of  departure  seemed  to  indicate  that 
the  Israelites  doubted  the  stability  of  the  king's  intent. 
In  a  moment,  therefore,  the  courtiers  were  pursuing 
the  departing  brothers,  urging  and  praying  with  all 
their  former  wild  insistence. 


528  THE   YOKE 

Har-hat  put  Masanath  on  her  feet  and  started  to 
leave  her,  but  she  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Forgive  me,  my  father,"  she  sobbed.  "For  my  re- 
bellion the  gods  may  absolve  me,  but  I  have  been  un- 
filial  and  for  that  there  is  no  justification.  If  aught 
should  befall  thee  in  these  awful  days,  how  I  should 
reproach  myself!  Sawest  thou  not  the  Hebrew's  gaze 
upon  thee  ?    Say  thou  dost  forgive  me !" 

"Nay,  nay,"  he  said  hastily ;  "thou  hast  not  done  me 
to  death  by  thine  undutifulness.  And  the  Hebrew  fears 
me.  Get  back  to  thy  chamber  and  rest."  He  kissed 
her  and  undid  her  clinging  arms.  Going  to  the  king, 
he  put  aside  Hotep,  who  was  striving  to  raise  the 
monarch,  and  lifted  Meneptah  in  his  arms. 

"Masanath  is  better  now,  good  Hotep,  and  I  would 
take  my  place  beside  my  king." 

Without  summoning  further  aid,  he  half  carried  the 
limp  monarch  up  the  hall  and  into  the  royal  bed-cham- 
ber. 

Weak,  shaking,  sated  with  horror  and  numb  with 
fear,  Masanath  attempted  to  return  to  her  apartments, 
but  at  the  second  step  she  reeled.  Hotep  saw  her.  The 
fan-bearer  was  not  in  sight.  In  an  instant  the  scribe 
was  beside  the  fainting  girl,  supporting  her,  nor  did 
he  release  her  until  she  was  safe  in  the  ministering 
arms  of  Nari. 

As  he  was  leaving  her  he  commended  her  most 
solemnly  to  the  gods. 

"Death  hath  wrenched  a  scepter  from  the  gods  and 
ruled  the  world  this  night,"  he  said.  "We  may  not 
delude  ourselves  that  we  have  escaped,  my  Lady.  As 
sure  as  there  is  a  first-born  in  thy  father's  house  and 
in  mine,  that  one  is  dead.    And  think  of  those  others 


THE   FIRST-BORN  529 

whom  we  love,  the  eldest  born  of  other  houses !  Do 
thou  pray  for  us,  thou  perfect  spirit.  I  can  not,  for 
there  is  little  reverence  for  my  gods  in  me  this  night." 

He  turned  away  and  disappeared  down  the  corridor. 

Within  her  chamber  Masanath  knelt  and  dutifully 
strove  to  pray,  but  her  petition  resolved  itself  into  a 
repeated  cry  for  help.  In  that  hour  she  did  not  think 
of  the  relief  to  her  and  to  many  that  the  death  of 
Rameses  had  brought  about,  for  in  her  heart  she 
counted  it  sin  to  be  glad  of  benefit  wrought  by  the 
death  of  any  man. 

Through  the  fingers  across  her  face  she  knew  that 
dawn  was  breaking,  but  quiet  had  not  settled  on  the 
city.  Surging  murmurs  of  unanimous  sorrow  rose 
and  fell  as  if  blown  by  the  chill  wind  to  and  fro  over 
Egypt.  The  nation  crouched  with  her  face  in  the  dust. 
There  was  no  perfunctory  sorrow  in  her  abasement. 
She  was  bowed  down  with  her  own  woe,  not  Menep- 
tah's.  Never  before  had  a  prince's  going-out  been  at- 
tended by  such  wild  grief.  There  was  no  comfort  in 
Egypt,  and  the  air  was  tremulous  with  mourning  from 
the  first  cataract  to  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XLI 


THE   ANGEL   OF   DEATH 


Kenkenes  had  spent  two  weeks  in  Goshen  in  sys- 
tematic search  for  Rachel. 

The  labor  had  been  time-consuming  and  fruitless. 

More  than  two  million  Israelites  were  encamped 
about  Pa-Ramesu,  and  among  this  host  Kenkenes  had 
searched  thoroughly  and  fearlessly.  He  was  an  Egyp- 
tian and  a  noble,  and  Israel  did  not  make  his  way  easy. 
But  all  Judah  knew  Rachel  and  loved  her,  and  the  first 
the  young  man  came  upon  was  a  quarryman  who  had 
known  of  Rachel's  flight  from  Har-hat  and  of  her  pro- 
tection at  the  hands  of  an  Egyptian.  Therefore  when 
Kenkenes  bore  witness,  by  his  stature,  that  he  was  the 
protecting  Egyptian,  and  by  his  testimony  concerning 
the  God  of  Israel,  that  he  was  worthy,  this  friendly 
son  of  Judah  began  to  suspect  that  Rachel  would  be 
glad  to  see  the  young  noble,  and  he  joined  Kenkenes  in 
his  search.  Furthermore,  he  softened  the  hearts  of  the 
tribe  toward  the  Egyptian  and  they  tolerated  him  with 
some  assumption  of  grace. 

The  other  tribes  gave  him  no  heed  except  to  glower 
at  him  in  the  camp-ways  or  to  mutter  after  him  when 
he  had  passed.  Seeing  that  Judah  suffered  him,  they 
did  not  fall  on  him.  Thus  the  young  man  was  safe. 
As  for  the  notice  Kenkenes  took  of  Israel,  it  began 

530 


THE   ANGEL   OF   DEATH  531 

and  ended  with  his  inquiry  after  Rachel,  the  daughter 
of  Maai  the  Compassionate,  a  son  of  Judah.  His  ear- 
nestness absorbed  him.  Otherwise  he  was  but  part- 
ly conscious  of  great  preparations  making  in  camp, 
of  tremendous  excitement,  heightening  of  zeal  and  vast 
meetings  after  nightfall,  when  he  had  withdrawn  to  a 
far-off  meadow  to  sleep  in  the  grass. 

When  he  had  searched  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Israel  and  found  Rachel  not,  he  led  his 
horse  from  the  distant  meadow,  where  he  had  been 
pastured,  and  turned  his  head  toward  Tanis. 

While  he  was  binding  the  saddle  of  sheep's  wool 
about  the  Arab's  narrow  girth  he  was  surprised  to  find 
that  the  friendly  son  of  Judah  had  followed  him  to  the 
pasture.  The  man  approached,  as  though  one  spirit 
urged  him  and  another  held  him  back,  and  offered 
Kenkenes  the  shelter  of  his  tent  for  the  night. 

Somewhat  gratified  and  astonished,  Kenkenes 
thanked  him  and  declined.  Still  the  Hebrew  lingered 
and  urged  him  with  strange  persistence.  Kenkenes 
expressed  his  gratitude,  but  would  not  stay. 

Having  taken  the  road  toward  Tanis  where  Rachel 
might  be  in  the  hands  of  Har-hat,  his  heart  seemed 
to  turn  to  iron  in  his  breast.  All  the  energies  and 
aims  of  his  youth  seemed  to  resolve  into  one  grim  and 
inexorable  purpose. 

It  was  far  into  the  second  watch  when  he  left  Pa- 
Ramesu.  But  the  great  city  of  tents  was  not  yet 
sleeping. 

The  horse  was  anxious  for  a  journey  after  a  fort- 
night of  idleness  and  he  bade  fair  to  keep  pace  with 
his  rider's  impatience.  The  Arabian  hills  had  sunk 
below  the   sky-line  and  the   Libyan   desert  was  not 


532  THE  .YOKE 

marked  by  any  eminence.  With  Pa-Ramesu  behind 
him,  a  wide  unbroken  horizon  belted  the  dusky  land- 
scape. The  lights  winked  out  over  Goshen  and  the 
hamlets  were  not  visible  except  as  Kenkenes  came 
upon  them.  The  shepherd  dogs  barked  afar  off,  or 
now  and  then  a  wakened  bird  cheeped  drowsily,  or  the 
waters  in  the  canals  rippled  over  a  pebbly  space. 

But  these  sounds  ceased  unaccountably,  at  last,  and 
a  silence  settled  down  till  the  atmosphere  was  tense 
with  stillness.  A  deadening  hand  seemed  to  cover 
the  night. 

The  silence  roused  Kenkenes  and  he  realized  the 
solemnity  of  the  earth,  the  vastness  of  the  sky  and  the 
majesty  of  the  solitude.  Mysteriously  affected,  he 
withdrew  within  himself  and  humbly  acknowledged 
the  One  God. 

At  midnight  a  chill  struck  the  breeze  and  he  drew 
his  mantle  about  him  while  he  rode.  The  wind  fresh- 
ened and  a  heated  counter-current  from  the  desert 
met  it  and  they  whirled  away,  rustling  through  the 
grassy  country. 

The  Arab  reduced  his  gallop  so  suddenly  that  Ken- 
kenes was  jolted.  The  small  peaked  ears  of  the  horse 
went  up  and  he  showed  a  disposition  to  move  side- 
wise  into  the  meadow  growth  beside  the  way. 

"A  wild  beast  hath  taken  the  road,"  Kenkenes 
thought. 

The  horse  brought  up,  with  a  start,  his  prominent 
muscles  twitching,  and  sniffed  the  air  strongly. 

A  high  oscillation  in  the  atmosphere  descended  on 
Kenkenes. 

The  Arab  reared,  snorting,  and  then  crouched,  quiv- 
ering with  wild  terror  in  every  limb. 


THE   ANGEL   OF  DEATH  533 

Unconscious,  even  of  the  movement,  Kenkenes 
threw  up  his  arm  as  if  to  ward  off  the*  blow  and  bent 
upon  his  horse's  neck. 

Gust  after  gust  of  icy  air  swept  down  on  his  head, 
as  if  winnowed  by  frozen  wings.  Then  with  a  back- 
ward waft,  colder  than  any  wind  he  had  ever  known, 
the  hovering  Presence  passed. 

Instantly  the  horse  plunged  and  took  the  road  to- 
ward Tanis  as  if  stung  by  a  lash.  Kenkenes,  shaken 
and  full  of  solemn  dread,  did  well  to  keep  his  saddle. 
He  grasped  the  stout  leather  bridle  with  strong  hands, 
but  he  might  have  curbed  the  hurricane  as  easily.  The 
Arab  stretched  his  gaunt  length,  running  low,  and  the 
haunted  night  reechoed  with  the  sound  of  his  hoofs. 
The  land  of  Goshen  lay  east  and  west,  with  a  slight 
divergence  toward  the  north.  The  road  to  Tanis  ran 
due  north.  It  was  not  long  until  Kenkenes'  flying 
steed  brought  him  in  sight  of  the  un-Israelite  Goshen. 
Illuminated  windows  starred  the  plain  and  the  wind 
shrilling  in  Kenkenes'  ears  bore  uncanny  sounds.  A 
turf-thatched  hovel  at  the  roadside  showed  a  light 
as  they  swept  by  and  a  long  scream  clove  the  air,  but 
the  Arab  was  not  to  be  halted. 

The  murmurous  wind  did  not  soothe  him,  and  the 
wakeful  night  had  a  terror  for  him  that  he  could  not 
outrun.  He  veered  sharply  and  galloped  through  the 
pastures  to  avoid  a  roadside  hamlet  that  shrieked  and 
moaned.  He  leaped  irrigation  canals  and  brush 
hedges,  swept  through  fields  and  gardens,  until,  at 
last,  by  dint  of  persuasion,  coupled  with  the  animal's 
growing  fatigue,  Kenkenes  succeeded  in  drawing  the 
horse  down  into  a  milder  pace. 

The  young  man  made  no  effort  to  fathom  the  mys- 


534  THE  YOKE 

terious  visitation.  Instead,  he  bowed  his  head  and 
rode  on,  awed  and  humbled. 

The  night  wore  away  and  the  gray  of  the  morning 
showed  him,  strange-featured,  the  misty  levels,  mead- 
ows, fields  and  gardens  of  northern  Goshen.  The 
wind  faltered  and  died;  the  stars,  strewn  down  the 
east,  paled  and  went  out,  one  by  one.  Fragmentary 
clouds  toward  the  sunrise  became  apparent,  tinted, 
silvered  and  at  last,  like  flakes  of  gold,  scattered  down 
to  a  point  of  intensest  brilliance  on  the  horizon.  A 
lark  sprang  out  of  the  wet,  wind-mown  grass  of  a 
meadow  and  shot  up,  up  till  it  was  lost  in  radiance 
and  only  a  few  of  its  exquisite  notes  filtered  down  to 
earth  again. 

A  brazen  rim  showed  redly  on  the  horizon  and  the 
next  instant  the  sun  bounded  above  the  sky-line. 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  Passover,  and  Ken- 
kenes,  the  son  of  Mentu,  was  the  only  Egyptian  first- 
born that  lived  to  see  it  break. 


CHAPTER  XLII 


EXPATRIATION 


At  sunrise,  Kenkenes  drew  up  his  horse  and  took 
counsel  with  himself.  By  steady  riding  he  could  reach 
Tanis  shortly,  but  once  within  the  capital  of  the  Pha- 
raoh, he  was  near  to  Har-hat  and  within  reach  of  the 
fan-bearer's  potent  hand.  When  he  entered  the  city 
he  must  be  mentally  and  physically  alert.  He  had  not 
slept  since  the  last  daybreak,  and  he  was  weary  and 
heavy-headed. 

Ahead  of  him  was  a  squat  hamlet,  set  on  the  very 
border  of  Goshen.  It  was  the  same  village  that  Seti 
had  designated  in  his  appointment  with  Moses.  Here 
he  might  have  found  a  hospitable  roof  and  a  pallet  of 
matting,  but  the  accompanying  gratuity  of  curiosity 
and  comment  would  have  outweighed  the  small  ad- 
vantage of  a  bed  indoors  over  a  bed  in  the  meadows. 

He  dismounted  and,  leading  his  horse  some  distance 
from  the  road,  into  the  fringe  of  water-sprouts  which 
lined  the  canal,  picketed  him  within  shade,  out  of  view 
from  the  highway.  Usually  the  meadow  growth  with- 
in reach  of  the  seepage  from  the  canals  was  most 
luxuriant,  and  here  the  flocks  of  the  Israelites  had 
come  for  sweet  grass.  They  had  kept  the  underbrush 
down,  and  the  herbage  closely  cropped.  But  for  two 
months  Israel  had  been  near  Pa-Ramesu  with  its 
535 


536  THE   YOKE 

cattle,  and  the  canal-borders  wera  again  riotous  with 
growth.  The  place  Kenkenes  came  upon  was  most 
tempting,  odorous  and  cool.  He  rolled  his  mantle  for 
a  pillow  and  flung  himself  into  the  grass,  where  he 
lay,  half-buried  in  green,  and  slept. 

The  April  sun,  hot  as  a  torrid  July  noon  in  northern 
lands,  discovered  the  sleeper  and  stared  into  his  up- 
turned face.  He  flung  his  arm  across  his  eyes  and 
slept  on.  Shadows  fell  and  lengthened ;  the  afternoon 
passed,  and  still  he  slept. 

Mounted  couriers  riding  at  a  dead  gallop,  passed 
over  the  road,  toward  Tanis.  Following  them,  war- 
chariots  thundered  by  with  a  Castanet  accompaniment 
of  jingling  harness  and  jarring  armor.  Kenkenes 
stirred  during  the  tumult,  but  when  it  had  receded  he 
lay  still  again.  Three  mounted  soldiers  leading  a 
score  of  horses  passed.  The  Arab  in  the  copse  whin- 
nied softly.  A  second  trio  of  soldiers,  following  with 
a  smaller  drove,  heard  the  call  from  the  bushes  and 
drew  up.  The  foremost  man  spoke  to  another,  tossed 
the  knotted  bridles  to  him  and,  dismounting,  came 
through  the  copse  to  the  Arab.  There  he  found  the 
young  nobleman,  sleeping. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  but  no  longer.  Silently 
he  untied  the  horse,  led  him  forth,  attached  him  with 
the  others  and  speedily  took  the  road  toward  Tanis. 

After  these  had  passed  the  road  was  deserted  and  no 
more  came  that  way.  In  a  little  time  the  sun  set. 
The  wind  from  the  north  freshened  and  swayed  the 
close-standing  bushes  so  that  their  branches  chafed 
one  against  another.  At  the  sound  Kenkenes,  ready 
to  wake,  stirred  and  opened  his  eyes.    After  a  moment 


EXPATRIATION  537 

he  sat  up  and  looked  for  the  Arab.  The  horse  was 
gone. 

Kenkenes  arose  and  searched  industriously.  The 
trampled  space  in  the  road  convinced  him  that  the 
horse  had  departed  with  a  number  of  others.  Hoping 
that  he  might  find  some  trace  of  the  lost  animal  among 
the  inhabitants,  he  went  to  the  hamlet. 

Two  ragged  lines  of  huts,  built  of  sun-dried  brick, 
formed  a  single  straggling  street.  A  low  shed,  the 
first  building  Kenkenes  came  upon,  showed  a  flicker- 
ing red  light.  A  spare  figure  darted  into  it,  just  ahead 
of  the  young  man. 

From  the  threshold,  the  whole  of  the  small  interior 
was  visible. 

The  light  came  from  a  small  annealing  oven.  At  a 
table,  overlaid  with  a  thin  slab  of  stone,  a  man  was 
modeling  a  cat  in  clay.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
room  was  a  younger  man,  painting  an  image,  pre- 
paratory to  burning  it  in  the  oven.  The  walls  were 
black  with  smoke,  the  floor  strewn  with  broken  im- 
ages and  dried  crumbs  of  clay. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  was  the  spare  figure,  in 
white  robes.  Kenkenes  had  opened  his  lips  to  speak 
when  the  conversation  among  the  trio  stopped  him. 

"Cowards  !  Dastards !"  the  spare  man  vociferated. 
"Is  there  not  a  patriot  in  Egypt?  The  Pharaoh  in 
danger  and  not  a  man  in  the  hamlet  who  will  raise  a 
heel  to  save  him !" 

"Holy  Father,"  the  short  man  protested,  "the  way  is 
long,  the  horses  have  been  required  at  our  hands  by 
the  Pharaoh  and  were  taken  from  us,  and  if  there  be 
evil  omens,  the  king's  sorcerers  will  discover  them." 


538  THE   YOKE 

"King's  sorcerers!"  the  spare  man  repeated  indig- 
nantly. "There  is  not  one  of  them  who  can  tell  a 
star  from  a  fire-fly  or  read  the  events  of  yesterday ! 
Horses!  Must  ye  go  mounted,  in  litters,  in  chariots, 
afraid  of  the  harsh  earth  and  a  rough  mile?  In  my 
youth,  the  young  men  went  barefoot  and  traveled  the 
desert  for  the  joy  of  effort.  Oh,  for  one  of  mine  own 
best  days !    Horses !" 

"Is  the  son  of  Hofa  away  ?"  the  younger  man  asked. 
"He  is  a  runner  as  well  as  a  soldier." 

The  spare  man  broke  out  afresh. 

"A  runner !  Aye,  of  a  truth  he  is  a  runner.  When 
the  tidings  came  that  the  Pharaoh  was  to  pursue  the 
Israelites  he  ran  his  best — for  the  hay-fields — and  is 
hidden  safe  under  a  swath  somewhere — the  craven!" 

Kenkenes  stepped  into  the  shed. 

"What  is  this  concerning  the  Israelites?"  he  de- 
manded. 

The  spare  man  turned  and  the  two  artisans  gazed 
at  the  young  sculptor  with  open  mouths. 

"The  news  is  not  to  be  cried  abroad,"  the  spare  man 
replied  shortly. 

"Thou  hast  become  cautious  too  late,"  Kenkenes 
retorted.  "The  most  of  thy  talk  have  I  heard.  I 
would  know  the  rest  of  it." 

"By  Bast,  thou  art  imperious!  In  my  great  days 
the  nobles  groveled  to  me.  Now,  am  I  commanded 
by  them.    How  thou  art  fallen,  Jambres ! 

"The  Israelites,  my  Lord,"  he  continued  mockingly, 
"departed  out  of  the  land  of  Goshen,  in  the  early 
morning  hours  of  this  day,  but  the  Pharaoh  hath  re- 
pented, and  will  pursue  them — to  turn  them  back,  or 


EXPATRIATION    .  539 

to  destroy  them."  The  old  man's  voice  lost  its  sar- 
casm and  became  anxious. 

"But  the  signs  are  ominous,  the  portents  are  evil. 
I  know,  I  know,  for  I  am  no  less  a  mystic  because  I 
have  fallen  from  state.  His  seers  are  liars,  they  can 
not  guide  the  king.  He  must  not  pursue  them,  for 
death  shadows  him  the  hour  he  leaves  the  gates  of 
Tanis.  He  must  not  go!  I  love  him  yet,  and  I  can 
not  see  him  overthrown." 

"Thou  art  no  more  eager  to  stay  him  than  I,"  Ken- 
kenes  answered  quickly.  "Thou  art  in  need  of  a  run- 
ner.   I  am  one." 

The  eye  of  the  sorcerer  fell  on  the  young  man's 
dress. 

"A  runner  among  the  nobility  ?"  he  commented  sus- 
piciously. 

"Is  a  man  less  likely  to  be  a  patriot  because  he  is  of 
blood,  or  less  fleet  of  foot  because  he  is  noble  ?" 

"Nay ;  nor  less  useful  because  he  is  sharp  of  tongue. 
Come  with  me!"  Jambres  seized  his  arm  and,  hurry- 
ing him  out  of  the  shed,  went  through  the  ragged 
street  to  the  shrine  at  the  upper  end  of  the  village. 

From  the  tunnel-like  entrance  between  the  dwarf 
pylons  a  light  was  diffused  as  though  it  came  through 
thin  hangings.  The  pair  entered  the  porch  and  passed 
into  the  sanctuary. 

Entering  his  study,  Jambres  made  his  way  to  the 
heavy  table  and,  fumbling  about  the  compartments' 
under  it,  drew  forth  a  wrapped  and  addressed  roll. 
Taking  up  a  lighted  lamp,  he  scrutinized  the  messen- 
ger sharply. 

While  he  gazed,  Kenkenes  took  the  opportunity  of 


540  THE   YOKE 

inspecting  the  priest.  He  had  been  a  familiar  figure 
about  the  palaces  of  two  monarchs.  For  thirty  years 
he  had  read  the  stars  for  the  great  Rameses,  six  for 
Meneptah,  but  he  had  measured  rods  with  Moses  and 
had  fallen.  From  the  pinnacle  of  power  he  had  de- 
clined precipitately  to  the  obscurest  office  in  the  priest- 
hood.   This  bird-cote  shrine  was  his. 

"Art  thou  seasoned  ?  Canst  thou  endure  ?  Nay,  no 
need  to  ask  that,"  he  answered  himself,  surveying  the 
strong  figure  before  him.    "But  who  art  thou  ?" 

"I  am  the  son  of  Mentu,  the  murket." 

"The  son  of  Mentu?  Enough.  If  a  drop  of  that 
man's  blood  runneth  in  thy  veins,  thou  art  as  stead- 
fast as  death.    Surely  the  gods  are  with  me." 

He  opened  a  second  compartment  in  the  end  of  the 
table,  but  before  he  found  what  he  sought  he  raised 
himself,  suddenly. 

"If  thou  art  that  son  of  the  murket,"  he  asked,  "how 
is  it  thou  art  not  dead  ?" 

Kenkenes  looked  at  him,  wondering  if  the  news  of 
his  supposed  death  had  penetrated  even  to  this  little 
hamlet. 

"Art  thou  not  thy  father's  eldest  born?"  the  priest 
asked  further. 

"His  only  child." 

"What  sheltered  thee  in  last  night's  harvest  of 
death?" 

"Thou  speakest  in  riddles,  holy  Father." 

"Knowest  thou  not  that  every  first-born  in  Egypt 
died  last  night  at  the  Hebrew's  sending?"  the  sorcerer 
demanded. 

"The  first-born  of  Egypt,"  Kenkenes  repeated  slow- 
ly.   "At  the  Hebrew's  sending?" 


EXPATRIATION  541 

"Aye,  by  the  sorcery  of  Mesu.  Save  for  the  eldest 
of  Israel,  there  is  no  living  first-born  in  Egypt  to-day. 
From  that  most  imperial  Prince  Rameses  to  the  first- 
ling of  the  cowherd,  they  are  dead !" 

The  young  man  heard  him  first  with  a  chill  of  hor- 
ror, half-unbelieving,  barely  comprehending.  -He  was 
not  of  Israel  and  yet  he  had  been  spared.  Then  he 
remembered  the  dread  presence  above  him  in  the  night, 
— the  chill  from  its  noiseless  wing.  A  light,  instant  and 
brilliant  as  a  revelation,  broke  over  him.  Uncon- 
sciously, he  raised  his  eyes  and  clasped  his  hands 
against  his  breast.  He  knew  that  his  God  had  ac- 
knowledged him. 

When  his  thoughts  returned  to  earth,  he  found  the 
glittering  eyes  of  the  sorcerer  fixed  upon  him. 

"Seeing  that  thou  dost  live,  tell  me  what  sheltered 
thee  in  this  harvest  of  death?"  Jambres  repeated. 

"The  Lord  God  of  Israel,  who  reaped  it." 

The  answer  was  direct  and  fearless.  To  the  aston- 
ished priest  who  heard  it,  it  seemed  triumphant. 

Each  of  the  many  emotions  the  sorcerer  experienced, 
displayed  itself,  in  turn,  on  his  face, — amazement, 
anger,  censure,  irresolution,  distrust.  After  a  silence, 
he  took  up  the  scroll  'and  made  as  if  to  return  it  to 
its  hiding-place  in  the  compartments  under  the  table. 

"Stay,"  Kenkenes  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  sor- 
cerer's. "Put  it  not  away,  for  I  shall  carry  it.  Shall 
I,  being  a  believer  in  Israel's  God,  be  willing  for  the 
Pharaoh  to  pursue  Israel  ?" 

"Nay,"  Jambres  replied  bluntly;  "but  thou  wouldst 
stay  him  for  Israel's  sake;  I  would  prevent  him  for 
his  own." 

"So  the  same  end  is  accomplished,  wherefore  quar- 


542  THE   YOKE 

rel  over  the  motive?  But  when  thou  speakest  of  Is- 
rael's sake,  which,  by  the  testimony  of  past  events,  is 
now  the  more  imperiled,  Egypt  or  Israel  ?" 

"Egypt!  But  it  shall  not  be  wholly  overthrown 
through  mine  incautious  trust  of  a  messenger." 

The  young  man  still  retained  his  hold  on  the  sor- 
cerer's hand. 

"Thou  dost  impugn  my  fidelity.  Now,  consider 
this.  I  could  have  defeated  thee  and  accomplished  the 
Pharaoh's  undoing  by  refusing  to  carry  the  message, 
by  keeping  silence  in  yonder  shed  of  image-makers. 
Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Jambres  assented. 

"Even  so.  Instead,  I  offered  and  now  I  insist.  Now, 
if  thou  deniest  me,  there  is  none  to  carry  the  warning 
and  thou,  thyself,  hast  undone  the  Pharaoh." 

The  sorcerer  put  away  the  hand  and  showed  no 
sign  of  softening. 

"Nay,  then,"  Kenkenes  said,  "there  is  no  need  of 
the  writing.  I  shall  warn  the  king  by  word  of  mouth." 
He  turned  away  and  walked  swiftly  toward  the  portals 
of  the  shrine.  Jambres  beheld  him  recede  into  the 
dusk  and  wavered. 

"Stay!"  he  called. 

Kenkenes  stopped. 

"Wilt  thou  swear  fidelity  by  the  holy  Name  ?" 

"Aye,  and  by  that  holier  Name  of  Jehovah,  also." 

He  returned  and  faced  the  priest.  "Thou  art  mystic, 
Father  Jambres,"  he  said  persuasively;  "what  does 
thy  heart  tell  thee  of  me  ?" 

"The  supplication  of  the  need  indorses  thee,  as  it  in- 
dorses any  desperate  chance.  If  thou  art  false,  thou 
art  the  instrument  of  Set,  whom  the  Hathors  have 


EXPATRIATION   ,  543 

given  to  overthrow  Egypt.  If  thou  art  true,  the  Pha- 
raoh shall  return  safe  to  his  capital  in  Memphis.  The 
gratitude  of  Egypt  will  be  sufficient  reward." 

"And  I  take  the  message?" 

Jambres  nodded.  "Art  thou  armed?"  he  asked, 
bending  again  to  look  into  the  compartment  he  had 
opened. 

"Except  for  my  dagger,  nay." 

The  sorcerer  brought  forth  a  falchion  of  that  won- 
drous metal  that  could  carve  syenite  granite  and  bite 
into  porphyry;  also,  a  pair  of  horse-hide  sandals  and 
a  flat  water-bottle. 

"Put  on  these." 

Kenkenes  undid  his  cloak  and  untying  his  broidered 
sandals,  wrapped  them  in  his. mantle  and  bound  the 
roll,  crosswise,  on  his  back.  Over  this  he  slung  the 
water-bottle,  which  the  priest  had  filled  in  the  mean- 
time, fixed  the  falchion  at  his  side  and  put  on  the 
horse-hide  sandals. 

"When  hast  thou  broken  thy  fast  ?"  the  priest  asked 
next. 

"At  sunset  yesterday." 

The  priest  turned  with  a  sign  to  the  young  man  to 
follow  him  and,  passing  through  the  shrine,  led  the 
way  out  of  the  sanctuary  into  the  house  of  the  sorcerer. 
Here,  shortly,  Kenkenes  was  served  by  a  slave,  with  a 
haunch  of  gazelle-meat,  lettuce,  white  bread  and  wine. 

While  he  ate,  the  priest  informed  him  of  the  situa- 
tion he  might  expect  to  find  at  the  end  of  his  journey. 

"The  Israelites  departed  in  the  early  hours  of  this 
morning  taking  the  Wady  Toomilat,  east,  toward  the 
gates  of  the  Rameside  wall.  It  was  the  going  forth 
of  a  multitude, — the  exodus  of  a  nation !    And  they 


544  THE   YOKE 

will  travel  at  the  pace  of  their  slowest  lambs.  Thus 
Meneptah  can  gather  his  legions  and  make  ready  to 
pursue  ere  they  have  reached  the  wall."  The  priest 
had  begun  calmly,  but  the  thought  of  pursuit  excited 
him. 

"He  must  not  follow!"  he  continued.  "They  are 
unarmed,  but  the  Pharaoh  deals  with  a  wizard  and  a 
strange  God — no  common  foe.  And  if  these  were 
all  who  have  evil  intents  against  him,  but  there  is  an- 
other— another !" 

He  came  to  the  young  man's  side,  saying  in  an  ex- 
cited whisper : 

"There  is  another,  I  say,  within  the  king's  affections 
— a  scorpion  cherished  in  his  bosom !" 

The  old  man's  vehemence  and  his  words  fired  Ken- 
kenes.  He  arose  and  faced  Jambres  with  kindling 
eyes.  The  sorcerer  went  on  with  increasing  excite- 
ment. 

"Better  that  his  slaves  depart  increased,  enriched 
threefold  by  Egypt,  better  that  never  again  one  stone 
be  laid  upon  another,  nor  monument  bear  the  king's 
name,  than  that  Meneptah  should  leave  the  precincts  of 
shelter!  For  his  enemy  would  lead  him  outside  the 
pale  of  protection,  and  there  put  him  to  death,  and 
wear  his  crown  after  him !" 

During  this  impetuous  augury,  the  young  man  nat- 
urally searched  after  the  identity  of  the  offender.  Not 
Ta-user,  nor  Siptah,  nor  Amon-meses,  for  the  sorry 
tale  of  Seti  and  the  outlawing  of  the  trio  had  reached 
him  at  Pa-Ramesu.  Furthermore,  they  had  never  had 
a  place  in  the  affections  of  the  king.  There  was  a  new 
conspirator !  At  this  point  the  blood  heated  and  went 
charging  through  the  young  man's  veins. 


EXPATRIATION  545 

"If  the  king's  enemy  be  mine  enemy,"  he  declared 
passionately,  "thou  hast  this  hour  commissioned  and 
armed  that  enemy's  dearest  foe !    Name  him." 

The  priest  shook  his  head.  His  excitement  had  not 
carried  him  beyond  the  limits  of  caution. 

"Save  for  my  mystic  knowledge,  I  have  no  proof 
against  him,  and  if  I  balk  him  not  and  offend  him,  he 
hath  a  heavy  and  a  vengeful  hand." 

"And  thou  hast  not  named  him  in  the  writing?" 

Again  the  priest  shook  his  head. 

"Then,"  said  the  young  man  firmly,  "then  will  I 
name  him  to  the  Pharaoh !" 

Jambres  looked  at  Kenkenes  with  profound  admira- 
tion, not  unmixed  with  apprehension. 

"Let  not  thy  youthful  zeal  undo  thee,"  he  cautioned. 
"Perchance  thou  dost  mistake  the  man." 

"The  gods  did  not  bestow  all  the  art  upon  the  mys- 
tics when  they  endowed  thee  with  divining  powers. 
They  gifted  every  man  with  a  little  of  it,  and  it  speak- 
eth  no  less  truthfully  because  it  is  small.  Come,  thy 
board  has  been  generous  and  I  am  satisfied.  I  have 
another  and  a  fiercer  hunger  I  would  appease.  Give 
me  the  message  and  let  me  be  gone." 

Silent,  the  priest  led  the  way  again  into  the  sanc- 
tuary. Taking  the  scroll  from  its  hiding-place  once 
more  he  said,  as  he  gave  it  into  the  messenger's  hands : 
"Go  first  to  Tanis,  and  if  thou  findest  not  the  king  in 
his  capital,  seek  until  thou  dost  find  him.  And  have  a 
care  to  thyself." 

Kenkenes  hesitated  a  moment,  and  said  at  last: 

"It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  return,  but  I  would  have 
my  father  know  that  I  died  not  with  the  first-born. 
Wilt  thou  tell  him,  when  thou  canst  ?" 


546  THE  YOKE 

"The  word  shall  go  to  him  by  sunset  to-morrow  if 
I  carry  it  myself." 

Kenkenes  expressed  his  thanks  and  the  priest  went 
on. 

"Be  not  rash,  I  charge  thee.  Farewell,  and  thy 
father's  gods  attend  thee." 

Without  the  dwarf  pylons,  Kenkenes  bent  for  the 
old  man's  blessing  and  turned  away.  Walking  rapidly 
to  the  northern  limits  of  the  town,  he  took  the  dusty 
highway  again,  and  struck  into  an  easy  run. 

The  road  sloped  up  toward  the  north,  but  the  rise 
was  gradual  and  the  ascent  was  not  wearying.  The 
miles  slipped  behind  swiftly,  for  he  covered  them  as 
naturally  as  the  unloitering  bird  traverses  the  air. 

In  two  hours  he  had  reached  the  pinnacle  of  the  up- 
land. To  the  north  the  road  led  continuously  down 
to  the  sea.  He  paused  and  looked  back  over  the  long 
gentle  declivity  toward  the  south  and  west. 

A  sharp  pain  pierced  him.  In  that  moment,  he  real- 
ized that  he  was  expatriated.  After  he  had  warned 
Meneptah,  Egypt  dropped  out  of  his  aims.  There- 
after he  had  the  rescue  of  Rachel,  or  her  avenging  to 
accomplish,  and  the  results  following  upon  the  neces- 
sity of  either  of  these  alternatives  would  not  permit 
him  to  return  into  the  land  of  his  fathers.  There  was 
no  turning  back  now,  nor  any  desire  in  him  to  do  so. 
His  conscience  had  been  witness  to  the  renunciation 
of  his  nation  and  his  faith,  and  it  did  not  chide  him. 

Still  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the  limitless,  fea- 
tureless, velvety  dusk  that  was  Egypt  by  day,  and 
wept. 

He  entered  Tanis  in  the  middle  of  the  third  watch, 
and  there  he  learned  that  the  Pharaoh  had  departed, 


EXPATRIATION  547 

but  whither,  the  solemn,  haggard  citizens  he  met  could 
not  tell.  He  repaired  to  the  inn,  a  house  of  mourning, 
also,  and  awaited  the  dawn.  Then  he  looked  on  the 
funereal  capital  of  Meneptah.  The  city  no  longer 
cried  out ;  it  sighed  or  sobbed,  exhausted  with  its  grief ; 
it  went  the  heavy  round  of  labor  demanded  by  the  ne- 
cessities of  life,  bowed,  disheveled  and  blinded  with 
woe.  Kenkenes,  humbled,  sorrbwful,  and  helpless, 
averted  his  eyes  and  hurried  to  the  palace. 

There  he  found  that  the  queen  and  Seti,  with  all 
the  queen's  retinue,  had  departed  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  temple  of  the  sacred  ram  at  Mendes  for  the  welfare 
of  the  soul  of  Rameses.  Masanath  was  in  Pelusium 
mourning  for  her  sister  who  died  with  the  first-born. 
The  others, — Har-hat,  Hotep,  Nechutes,  Menes,  Se- 
neferu,  Kephren  the  mohar, — all  except  the  palace 
attendants  had  accompanied  the  king.  The  great 
house  of  the  Pharaoh  was  empty,  solitary  and  haunted. 

The  destination  of  the  king  was  a  state  secret  that 
had  not  been  imparted  to  the  chamberlains.  Kenkenes 
returned  into  the  unhappy  streets  again. 

He  went  to  the  square  in  which  the  loiterers  were 
congregated,  even  though  there  was  one  dead  in  the 
household,  and  seeking  out  the  most  intelligent,  ques- 
tioned him  concerning  the  departure  of  the  Pharaoh. 

He  learned  that  the  king  and  the  ministers  had 
left  Tanis,  and  driven  south,  the  afternoon  after  the 
night  of  death.  At  nightfall,  sixteen  chariots  from 
the  nome  followed  him.  And  though  the  young  man 
inquired  of  many  sources  in  the  capital,  he  discovered 
nothing  further. 

Avowedly,  it  was  Meneptah's  intent  to  overtake  the 
Hebrews,  turn  them  back,  or  destroy  them.    He  could 


548  THE   YOKE 

not  accomplish  that  thing-  with  a  score  of  ministers 
and  sixteen  picked  chariots.  It  was  evident  that  he 
meant  to  collect  an  army  near  the  track  of  the  He- 
brews, and  that  he  had  departed  for  the  rendezvous. 

If  the  Israelites  traveled  but  two  miles  an  hour, 
they  could  cover  the  distance  between  Pa-Ramesu  and 
the  Rameside  wall  by  the  sunset  of  this,  the  second 
day  after  the  death  of  the  first-born.  It  would  have 
been  the  first  act  of  the  Pharaoh  to  close  the  gates  of 
the  wall  against  them.  The  army  of  the  north  could 
gather  from  the  remotest  nomes  by  the  close  of  this 
day  also.  Therefore,  the  hour  to  proceed  against  the 
Israelites  was  not  far  away.  Kenkenes  knew  that  he 
might  not  delay,  even  for  a  short  sleep,  in  Tanis. 

He  fixed  upon  Pithom  as  the  chosen  spot  for  the 
rendezvous,  since  it  was  situated  on  the  Wady  Toom- 
ilat. 

He  refreshed  himself  with  a  beaker  of  sour  wine  in 
which  a  recuperative  simple  had  been  stirred,  and 
took  the  road  to  the  south. 

Immediately  outside  of  the  city  walls  he  came  upon 
the  track  of  the  departing  king,  and  followed  it  faith- 
fully as  long  as  there  was  light  to  show  it  to  him.  A 
dozen  miles  out  of  Tanis  he  ceased  to  run,  and  there- 
after his  progress  became  slower  as  his  fatigue  in- 
creased. Toward  the  end  of  the  first  watch,  at  the 
northern  borders  of  the  district  known  as  Succoth,  at 
the  extreme  east  of  Goshen,  he  came  upon  a  mighty 
track. 

Even  in  the  dark  he  could  see  that  a  diaphanous 
gauze  of  dust  overhung  it  and  the  air  was  heavy  with 
the  most  volatile  particles.  The  sandy  earth  had  been 
ground  and  worked  to  the  depth  of  over  a  foot.    How 


EXPATRIATION  549 

difficult  had  it  been  for  the  rearmost  ranks  to  cover 
this  ploughed  soil!  The  track  was  a  mile  in  width, 
and  by  the  nature  of  the  marks  upon  it,  Kenkenes 
knew  that  husbandmen,  not  warriors,  had  passed  over 
this  spot.  It  was  the  path  of  Israel,  leading  east  to 
the  Rameside  wall. 

Kenkenes  tightened  his  sandal  straps  and  continued 
toward  the  south.  Ahead  of  him,  the  horizon  began 
to  glow  and  then  an  edge, — a  half, — all  of  a  perfect 
moon  lifted  a  vast  orange  disk  above  the  world.  At 
its  first  appearance  it  was  sharply  cut  by  a  tower  of 
the  city  of  Pithom. 

"Now,  the  God  of  Israel  be  thanked,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "for  another  mile  I  can  not  cover." 

The  gates  were  tightly  closed  and  a  sentry  from  the 
wall  challenged  him. 

"I  bring  a  message  to  the  Pharaoh,"  he  answered. 

"The  Son  of  Ptah  is  not  within  the  walls." 

"Hath  he  departed,"  Kenkenes  wearily  asked,  "or 
came  he  not  hither?" 

"He  came  not  to  Pithom." 

"Come  thou  down,  then,  and  let  me  in,  friend,  for  I 
am  spent." 

In  a  little  time,  he  entered  the  inn  of  the  treasure 
city,  was  given  a  bed,  upon  which  he  flung  himself 
without  so  much  as  loosening  the  kerchief  on  his  head, 
and  slept. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 


THE  PHARAOH  DREW  NIGH 


In  mid-afternoon  of  the  following  day,  Kenkenes 
awoke  and  made  ready  to  take  up  his  search  again. 
He  was  weary,  listless  and  sore,  but  his  mission  urged 
him  as  if  death  threatened  him. 

The  young  man's  athletic  training  had  taught  him 
how  to  recuperate.  Most  of  the  process  was  de- 
nied him  now,  because  of  his  haste  and  the  little  time 
at  his  command,  but  the  smallest  part  would  be  bene- 
ficial. He  stepped  into  the  streets  of  the  treasure  city, 
and  paused  again,  till  the  recollection  of  the  sorrow 
upon  Egypt  returned  to  him  to  explain  the  gloom  over 
Pithom.  The  great  melancholy  of  the  land,  attending 
him  hauntingly,  oppressed  him  with  a  sense  of  culpa- 
bility. And  he  dared  not  ask  himself  wherein  he  de- 
served his  good  fortune  above  his  countrymen,  lest  he 
seem  to  question  the  justice  of  the  God  of  his  adoption. 

At  a  bazaar  he  purchased  two  pairs  of  horse-hide 
sandals,  for  the  many  miles  on  the  roads  had  worn 
out  the  old  and  he  needed  foot-wear  in  reserve.  From 
the  booth  he  went  straight  to  the  baths,  now  wholly 
deserted ;  for  when  Egypt  mourned,  like  all  the  East, 
she  neglected  her  person. 

When  he  came  forth  he  was  refreshed  and  stronger. 
Of  the  citizens,  haggard  and  solemn  as  they  had  been 

55o 


"THE    PHARAOH    DREW    NIGH"        551 

in  Tanis,  he  asked  concerning  the  Pharaoh.  None  had 
seen  him,  nor  had  he  entered  the  city.  The  last  one 
he  questioned  was  a  countryman  from  Goshen,  and 
from  him  he  learned  that  the  army  was  assembling  in 
a  great  pasture  on  the  southern  limits  of  the  Israelitish 
country. 

At  sunset  he  was  again  upon  the  way,  taking  the 
level  highway  of  the  Wady  Toomilat  for  a  mile  toward 
the  west,  and  turning  south,  after  that  distance,  as  the 
rustic  had  directed  him. 

The  road  was  good  and  he  ran  with  old-time  ease. 
At  midnight  he  came  upon  the  spot  where  the  army 
had  camped,  but  the  Pharaoh  had  already  moved 
against  Israel.  He  had  left  his  track.  The  great  belt 
of  disturbed  earth  wheeled  to  the  south,  and  as  far  as 
Kenkenes  could  see  there  was  the  same  luminous  veil 
of  dust  overhanging  it,  that  he  had  noted  over  the  path 
of  Israel. 

The  messenger  drank  deep  at  an  irrigation  canal,  for 
he  turned  away  from  water  when  he  followed  the 
army,  and  leaving  the  level,  dust-cushioned  road  be- 
hind, plunged  into  a  rock-strewn,  rolling  land,  deso- 
late and  silent.  The  growing  light  of  the  moon  was 
his  only  advantage. 

The  region  became  savage,  the  trail  of  the  army 
wound  hither  and  thither  to  avoid  sudden  eminences 
or  sudden  hollows.  Kenkenes  dogged  it  faithfully, 
for  it  found  the  smoothest  way,  and,  besides,  the  wild 
beasts  had  been  frightened  from  the  track  of  a  multi- 
tude. 

In  the  early  hour  of  the  morning,  Kenkenes  emerged 
from  a  high-walled  valley  with  battlemented  summits. 
Before  him  was  the  army  encamped,  and  wild,  indeed, 


552  THE  [YOKE 

was  the  region  chosen  for  the  night's  rest.  The  glis- 
tening soil  was  thickly  strewn  with  rocks,  varying  in 
size  from  huge  cubes  to  sharp  shingle.  Every  abrupt 
ravine  ahead  was  accentuated  with  profound  shadow, 
and  the  dim  horizon  was  broken  with  hills.  The  local- 
ity maintained  an  irregular  slope  toward  the  east.  The 
camp  stretched  before  the  messenger  for  a  mile,  but 
the  great  army  had  changed  its  posture.  It  squatted 
like  a  tired  beast. 

Kenkenes  approached  it  dropping  with  weariness, 
and  after  a  time  was  passed  through  the  lines  and  con- 
ducted to  the  headquarters  of  the  king.  In  the  center 
of  the  great  field  were  pitched  the  multi-hued  tents 
of  Meneptah  and  his  generals.  Above  them,  turning 
like  weather-vanes  upon  their  staves,  were  the  stand- 
ards bearing  the  royal  and  divine  device,  the  crown 
and  the  uplifted  hands,  the  plumes  and  the  god-head. 

About  the  royal  pavilion  in  triple  cordon  paced  the 
noble  body-guard  of  the  Pharaoh. 

Of  one  of  these  Kenkenes  asked  that  a  personal  at- 
tendant of  the  king  be  sent  to  him. 

In  a  little  time,  some  one  emerged  from  the  Phara- 
oh's tent,  and  came  through  the  guard-line  to  the 
messenger.    It  was  Nechutes. 

The  cup-bearer  took  but  a  single  glance  at  Kenkenes 
and  started  back. 

"Thou!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "Out 
of  Amenti!" 

"And  nigh  returning  into  it  again,"  was  the  tired 
reply. 

In  a  daze,  Nechutes  took  the  offered  hands  and 
stared  at  Kenkenes  through  the  dark. 

"Where  hast  thou  been?"  he  finally  asked. 


"THE   PHARAOH   DREW   NIGH"        553 

"In  the  profoundest  depths  of  trouble,  Nechutes, 
nor  have  I  come  out  therefrom." 

The  cup-bearer's  face  showed  compassion  even  in 
the  dusk. 

"Nay,  now;  thine  was  but  the  fortune  a  multi- 
tude of  lovers  have  suffered  before  thee,"  he  said,  with 
a  contrite  note  in  his  deep  voice.  "It  was  even  odds 
between  us  and  I  won.  Hold  it  not  against  me,  Ken- 
kenes." 

It  was  the  sculptor's  turn  to  be  amazed.  But  with 
one  of  the  instant  realizations  that  acute  memory  ef- 
fects, he  recalled  that  he  had  disappeared  immediately 
after  Nechutes  had  been  accepted  by  the  Lady  Ta- 
meri.  And  now,  by  the  word  of  the  apologetic  cup- 
bearer, was  it  made  apparent  to  Kenkenes  that  a  tragic 
fancy  concerning  the  cause  of  his  disappearance  had 
taken  root  in  the  cup-bearer's  mind.  With  a  desperate 
effort,  Kenkenes  choked  the  first  desire  to  laugh  that 
had  seized  him  in  months. 

"Nay,  let  it  pass,  Nechutes,"  he  said  in  a  strained 
voice.  "Thou  and  I  are  friends.  But  lead  me  to  the 
king,  I  pray  thee." 

"To  the  king?"  the  cup-bearer  repeated  doubtfully. 
"The  king  sleeps.  Will  thine  interests  go  to  wreck  if 
thou  bidest  till  dawn  ?" 

"I  carry  him  a  message,"  Kenkenes  explained. 

"A  message !" 

"Even  so.    Hand  hither  a  torch." 

A  soldier  went  and  returned  with  a  flaming  knot  of 
pitch.  In  the  wavering  light  of  the  flambeau,  Nechutes 
read  the  address  on  the  linen  scroll. 

"The  king  could  not  read  by  the  night-lights,"  he 
said  after  a  little.     "Much  weeping  is  not  helpful  to 


554  THE   YOKE 

such  feeble  eyes  as  his.  Wait  till  dawn.  My  tent  is 
empty  and  my  bed  is  soft.  Wait  till  daybreak  as  my 
guest." 

"Where  is  Har-hat?" 

"In  his  tent,  yonder,"  pointing1  to  a  party-colored 
pavilion. 

"Dost  thou  keep  an  unsleeping  eye  on  the  Pha- 
raoh?" 

"By  night,  aye." 

Kenkenes  had  a  thought  to  accept  the  cup-bearer's 
hospitality.  He  knew  that  the  expected  climax  would 
follow  immediately  upon  the  king's  perusal  of  the  mes- 
sage, and  that  the  nature  of  that  climax  depended 
upon  himself.  He  needed  mental  vigor  and  bodily 
freshness  to  make  effective  the  work  before  him.  His 
cogitations  decided  him. 

"Let  the  unhappy  king  sleep,  then,  Nechutes;  far 
be  it  from  me  to  bring  him  back  to  the  memory  of  his 
sorrows.    Lead  me  to  thy  shelter,  if  thou  wilt." 

With  satisfaction  in  his  manner  Nechutes  conducted 
his  guest  into  a  comfortably  furnished  tent,  and 
showed  him  a  mattress  overlaid  with  sheeting  of  fine 
linen. 

"Shame  that  thou  must  defer  this  soft  sleeping  till 
the  noisy  and  glaring  hours  of  the  day,"  Kenkenes 
observed  as  he  fell  on  the  bed. 

"By  this  time  to-morrow  night,  I  may  content  my- 
self in  a  bed  of  sand  with  a  covering  of  hyena-fending 
stones,"  the  cup-bearer  muttered. 

"Comfort  thee,  Nechutes,"  the  artist  said  senten- 
tiously.  "But  do  thou  raise  me  from  this  ere  day- 
break, even  if  thou  must  take  a  persuasive  spear  to 
me." 


"THE    PHARAOH    DREW    NIGH"        555 

So  saying,  he  fell  asleep  at  once. 

After  some  little  employment  among  his  effects,  the 
cup-bearer  came  to  the  bedside  on  his  way  back  to  the 
king's  tent,  and  bent  over  his  guest. 

"Holy  Isis !  but  I  am  glad  he  died  not !"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Aye,  and  there  be  many  who  are  as  glad 
as.  I  am.  Dear  Ta-meri!  She  will  be  rejoiced,  and 
Hotep.  What  a  great  happiness  for  the  old  mur- 
ket — "  he  paused  and  clasped  his  hands  together.  "He 
is  Mentu's  only  son !  Now,  in  the  name  of  the  mys- 
tery-dealing Hathors,  how  came  it  that  he  died  not 
with  the  first-born?"  After  a  silence  he  muttered 
aloud :  "Gods !  the  army  would  barter  its  mummy  to 
have  the  secret  of  his  safety,  this  day !" 

At  the  first  glimmerings  of  the  dawn,  the  melody  of 
many  winded  trumpets  arose  over  the  encampment  of 
the  Egyptians.  Now  the  notes  were  near  and  clear, 
now  afar  and  tremulous;  again,  deep  and  sonorous; 
now,  full  and  rich,  and  yet  again,  fine  and  sweet. 
There  is  a  pathos  in  the  call  of  a  war-trumpet  that  no 
frivolous  rendering  can  subdue — it  has  sung  so  long 
at  the  death  of  men  and  nations. 

Outlined  in  black  silhouette  against  the  whitening 
horizons,  the  sentries,  tiny  and  slow-moving  in  the 
distance,  tramped  from  post  to  post  in  a  forward- 
leaning  line.  Soldiers  began  to  shout  to  each  other. 
The  clanking  of  many  arms  made  another  and  a 
harsher  music.  The  tumult  of  thousands  of  voices 
burdened  the  wind  and  above  this  presently  arose  the 
eager  and  expectant  whinnyings  of  a  multitude  of  war- 
horses. 

While  the  army  broke  its  fast  and  prepared  to  move 
the  king  stood  in  the  open  space  before  his  tent,  with 


556  THE   YOKE 

his  eyes  on  the  east.  The  Red  Sea  lay  there  beyond 
the  uplifted  line  of  desert  sand,  and  it  was  the  birth- 
place of  many  mists  and  unpropitious  signs. 

Would  the  sun  look  upon  the  king-  through  a  veil, 
or  openly?  Would  he  smile  upon  the  purposes  of  the 
Pharaoh  ? 

There  were  striations,  watery  and  colorless,  in  the 
lower  slopes  of  the  morning  sky,  and  these  were  tak- 
ing on  the  light  of  dawn  without  its  hues.  Long 
wind-blown  streaks  crossed  the  zenith  from  east  to 
west  and  the  setting  stars  were  blurred.  The  moon 
had  worn  a  narrowing  circlet  in  the  night.  Meneptah 
shook  his  head. 

Suddenly  some  one  in  the  ranks  of  the  royal  guard 
exclaimed  to  a  mate : 

"Look !    Look  to  the  southeast !" 

Meneptah  turned  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  as  though 
he  had  been  commanded.  There,  above  the  spot  where 
he  had  guessed  the  Israelites  to  be,  a  straight  and 
mighty  column  of  vapor  extended  up,  up  into  the 
smoky  blue  of  the  sky.  The  tortuous  shapes  of  the 
striations  across  the  zenith  indicated  that  there  was 
great  wind  at  that  height,  but  the  column  did  not  move 
or  change  its  form.  It  was  further  distinguished  from 
the  clouds  over  the  dawn,  by  a  fine  amber  light  upon 
it,  deepening  to  gold  in  its  shadows.  So  vivid  the  tint, 
that  steady  contemplation  was  necessary  to  assure  the 
beholders  that  it  was  not  fire,  climbing  in  and  out  of 
the  pillar's  heart.  Egypt's  skies  were  rarely  clouded 
and  never  by  such  a  formation  as  this. 

Meneptah  turned  his  troubled  eyes  hurriedly  toward 
the  east.    He  must  not  miss  the  sunrise.    At  that  mo- 


"THE    PHARAOH    DREW    NIGH"        557 

ment,  unheralded,  the  disk  of  the  sun  shot  above  the 
horizon  as  if  blown  from  a  crater  of  the  under-world — 
blurred,  milky-white,  without  warmth. 

He  turned  away  and  faced  Nechutes,  bending  be- 
fore him;  behind  the  cup-bearer,  a  stately  stranger — 
Kenkenes. 

"A  message  for  thee,  O  Son  of  Ptah,"  Nechutes 
said. 

At  a  sign  from  the  king,  the  messenger  came  for- 
ward, knelt  and  delivered  the  scroll.  The  king  looked 
at  the  writing  on  the  wrapping. 

"From  whom  dost  thou  bring  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"From  Jambres,  the  mystic,  O  Son  of  Ptah." 

"Ah  1"  It  was  the  tone  of  one  who  has  his  surmises 
proved.    "Now,  what  is  contained  herein?" 

Kenkenes  took  it  that  the  inquiry  called  for  an  an- 
swer. 

"A  warning,  O  King." 

"How  dost  thou  know?" 

"The  purport  of  the  message  was  told  me  ere  I 
departed." 

"Wherefore  ?  It  is  not  common  to  lead  the  messen- 
ger into  the  secret  he  bears." 

"I  know,  O  Son  of  Ptah,"  Kenkenes  replied  quietly ; 
"but  the  messenger  who  knew  its  contents  would  suf- 
fer not  disaster  or  death  to  stay  him  in  carrying  it  tp 
thee." 

As  if  to  delay  the  reading  of  it,  the  king  dismissed 
Nechutes  and  signed  Kenkenes  to  arise.  Then  he 
turned  the  scroll  over  and  over  in  his  hands,  inspect- 
ing it. 

"Age  does  not  cool  the  fever  of  retaliation,"  he  said 


558  THE  YOKE 

thoughtfully,  "and  this  ancient  Jambres  hath  a  grudge 
against  me.  Come,"  he  exclaimed  as  if  an  idea  had 
struck  him,  "do  thou  open  it." 

Kenkenes  took  the  scroll  thrust  toward  him,  and 
ripped  off  the  linen  wrapping.  Unrolling  the  writing 
he  extended  it  to  the  king. 

"And  there  is  naught  in  it  of  evil  intent?"  Menep- 
tah  asked,  putting  his  hands  behind  him. 

"Nay,  my  King ;  naught  but  great  love  and  concern 
for  thee." 

"Read  it,"  was  the  next  command.  "Mine  eyes  are 
dim  o.f  late,"  he  added  apologetically,  for,  through  the 
young  man's  reassuring  tones,  a  faint  realization  of 
the  trepidation  he  had  exhibited  began  to  dawn  on 
Meneptah. 

Kenkenes  obeyed,  reading  without  emphasis  or  in- 
flection, for  he  knew  no  expression  was  needed  to 
convey  the  force  of  the  message  to  the  already  intimi- 
dated king. 

When  Kenkenes  had  finished,  Meneptah  was  stand- 
ing very  close  to  him,  as  if  assured  of  shelter  in  the 
heroic  shadow  of  the  tall  young  messenger.  The  color 
had  receded  from  the  monarch's  face,  and  his  eyes  had 
widened  till  the  white  was  visible  all  around  the  iris. 

"Call  me  the  guard,"  he  said  hoarsely;  but  when 
Kenkenes  made  as  if  to  obey,  the  king  stayed  him  in 
a  panic. 

"Nay,  heed  me  not.  Mine  assassin  may  be  among 
them."  The  sound  of  his  own  voice  frightened  him. 
"Soft,"  he  whispered,  "I  may  be  heard." 

Kenkenes  maintained  silence,  for  he  was  not  yet 
ready. 

Meanwhile,  the  king  turned  hither  and  thither,  es- 


"THE    PHARAOH   DREW    NIGH"        559 

sayed  to  speak  and  cautiously  refrained,  grew  paler  of 
face  and  wider  of  eye,  panted,  trembled  and  broke  out 
recklessly  at  last. 

"Gods !  Trapped !  Hemmed  like  a  wild  beast  in  a 
circle  of  spears !  Nay,  not  so  honestly  beset.  Ringed 
about  by  vipers  ready  to  strike  at  every  step !  And 
this  from  mine  own  people,  whom  I  have  cherished 
and  hovered  over  as  they  were  my  children — "  His 
voice  broke,  but  he  continued  his  lament,  growing  un- 
intelligible as  he  talked : 

"Not  enough  that  mine  enemies  menace  me,  but 
mine  own  must  stab  me  in  my  straits!  Not  even  is 
the  identity  of  mine  assassin  revealed,  and  there  is 
none  on  whom  I  may  call  with  safety  and  ask  protec- 
tion—" 

"Nay,  nay,  Beloved  of  Ptah,"  Kenkenes  interrupted. 
"There  be  true  men  among  thy  courtiers." 

"Not  one — not  one  whom  I  may  trust,"  Meneptah 
declared  hysterically. 

"Here  am  I,  then." 

Meneptah,  with  the  inordinate  suspicion  of  the  hard- 
pressed,  backed  hurriedly  away  from  Kenkenes. 

"Who  art  thou  ?"  he  demanded.  "How  may  I  know 
thou  art  not  mine  enemy  ?" 

"Not  so,"  Kenkenes  protested.  "Give  me  ear,  I 
pray  thee.  Would  I  have  brought  thee  thy  warning, 
knowing  it  such,  were  I  thine  enemy?  And  further, 
did  not  Jambres,  the  mystic,  who  readeth  men's  souls, 
trust  me  ?" 

"Aye,  so  it  seems,"  the  king  admitted,  glad  to  be 
won  by  such  physical  magnificence.  "But  who  art 
thou?" 

"Kenkenes,  the  son  of  Mentu,  thy  murket." 


560  THE   YOKE 

"It  can  not  be,"  the  king  declared  with  suspicion  in 
his  eye.  "The  murket  had  but  one  son  and  he  must 
be  dead  with  the  first-born." 

"Nay;  I  was  in  the  land  of  Goshen,  the  night  of 
death,  and  the  God  of  Israel  spared  me." 

Meneptah  continued  to  gaze  at  him  stubbornly. 
Then  a  conclusive  proof  suggested  itself  to  Kenkenes, 
which,  under  the  stress  of  an  austere  purpose  and  a 
soul-trying  suspense,  he  had  no  heart  to  use.  But  the 
need  pressed  him;  he  choked  back  his  unwillingness, 
and  submitted.  Coming  very  close  to  Meneptah,  he 
began  to  sing,  with  infinite  softness,  the  song  that  the 
Pharaoh  had  heard  at  the  Nile-side  that  sunrise,  now 
as  far  away  as  his  childhood  seemed.  How  strange 
his  own  voice  sounded  to  him — how  out  of  place ! 

At  first,  the  expression  of  surprise  in  the  king's 
face  was  mingled  with  perplexity.  But  the  dim  rec- 
ords of  memory  spoke  at  the  urging  of  association. 
After  a  few  bars,  the  Pharaoh's  countenance  had  be- 
come reassured.    Kenkenes  ceased  at  once. 

"Enough !"  Meneptah  declared.  "The  gods  have 
most  melodiously  distinguished  thee  from  all  others. 
Thou  art  he  whom  I  heard  one  dawn,  and  mine  heir 
in  Osiris,  my  Rameses,  told  me  it  was  the  son  of 
Mentu." 

"Then,  being  of  the  house  of  Mentu,  thou  hast  no 
fear  of  my  steadfastness,  O  my  Sovereign?" 

"Nay;  would  that  I  might  be  as  trustful  of  all  my 
ministers.  Alas,  that  a  single  traitor  should  lay  the 
stain  of  unfaith  upon  all  the  court !  Ah,  who  is  mine 
enemy  ?" 

The  sentence,  more  exclamatory  than  questioning, 
seemed  to  the  young  man  like  a  call  upon  him  to  voice 


"THE    PHARAOH   DREW    NIGH"        561 

his  impeachments.  His  inclination  pressed  hard  upon 
him  and  the  tokens  of  his  knowledge  wrote  themselves 
upon  his  open  face.  When  a  man  is  dodging-  death 
and  expecting  treachery,  his  perceptions  become  acute. 
The  king,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  young  man's  coun- 
tenance, caught  the  change  of  expression. 

He  sprang  at  Kenkenes  and  seized  his  arms. 

"Speak!"  he  cried  violently.  "Thou  knowest;  thou 
knowest !" 

A  sudden  ebullition  of  rage  and  vengeance  sent  a 
tingling  current  through  the  young  man's  veins.  The 
moment  had  come.  In  the  eye  of  a  cautious  man,  he 
had  been  called  upon  for  a  dangerous  declaration.  He 
had  a  mighty  man  to  accuse,  no  proof  and  little  evi- 
dence at  his  command,  and  a  weakling  was  to  decide 
between  them.  But  his  cause  equipped  him  with 
strength  and  a  reckless  courage.  He  faced  the  king 
fairly  and  made  no  search  after  ceremonious  words. 
He  spoke  as  he  felt — intensely. 

"Nay;  it  is  thou  who  shalt  tell  me,  O  my  King.  I 
know  thee,  even  as  all  Egypt  knows  thee.  There  is  no 
power  in  thee  for  great  evil,  but  behold  to  what  depths 
of  misery  is  Egypt  sunk !  Through  thee  ?  Aye,  if  we 
charge  the  mouth  for  the  word  the  mind  willed  it  to 
say.  Have  the  gods  afflicted  thee  with  madness,  or 
have  they  given  thee  into  the' compelling  hands  of  a 
knave?  Say,  who  is  it,  thou  or  another,  who  playeth 
a  perilous  game  with  Israel,  this  day,  when  its  God 
hath  already  rent  Egypt  and  consumed  her  in  wrath? 
Like  a  wise  man  thou  admittest  thine  error  and  bid- 
dest  thy  scourge  depart,  and  lo!  ere  thy  words  are 
cold  thou  dost  arise  and  recall  them  and  invite  the 
descent  of  new  and  hideous  affliction  upon  thine  em- 


562  THE   YOKE 

pire!  Behold  the  winnings  of  thy  play,  thus  far! 
From  Pelusium  to  Syene,  a  waste,  full  of  famine, 
mourners  and  dead  men,  and  among  these  last — thy 
Rameses ! — " 

Meneptah  did  not  permit  him  to  finish.  Purple  with 
an  engorgement  of  grief  and  fury,  the  monarch  broke 
in,  flailing  the  air  with  his  arms. 

"Har-hat!"  he  cried.  "Not  I!  Har-hat,  who  coz- 
ened me !" 

The  voice  rang  through  the  royal  inclosure,  and 
the  ministers  came  running. 

Foremost  was  Har-hat. 

At  sight  of  his  enemy,  the  king  put  Kenkenes  be- 
tween him  and  the  fan-bearer.  At  sight  of  Kenkenes, 
Har-hat  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

Behind  followed  Kephren  and  Seneferu,  the  two 
generals,  who,  with  the  exception  of  Har-hat,  the  com- 
mander-in-chief, were  the  only  arms-bearing  men 
away  from  their  places  among  the  soldiers  ;  after  these, 
Hotep  and  Nechutes,  Menes  of  the  royal  body-guard, 
the  lesser  fan-bearers,  the  many  minor  attaches  to 
the  king's  person — in  all  a  score  of  nobles. 

They  came  upon  a  portentous  scene. 

The  tumult  of  preparation  had  subsided  and  the 
hush  of  readiness  lay  over  the  desert.  The  orders 
were  to  move  the  army  at  sunrise,  and  that  time  was 
past.  The  pioneers,  or  path-makers  for  the  army, 
were  already  far  in  advance.  Horses  had  been  bridled 
and  each  soldier  stood  by  his  mount.  Captains  with 
their  eyes  toward  the  royal  pavilion  moved  about  rest- 
lessly and  wondered.  The  high  commanding  officers 
absent,  the  next  in  rank  began  to  weigh  their  chances 
to  assume  command.     Soldiers  began  to  surmise  to 


"THE    PHARAOH   DREW    NIGH"        563 

one  another  the  cause  of  the  delay,  which  manifestly 
found  its  origin  in  the  quarters  of  the  king-. 

All  this  was  the  environment  of  a  hollow  square 
formed  by  the  royal  guard.  Within  was  the  Pharaoh, 
shrinking  by  the  side  of  his  messenger.  The  messen- 
ger, taller,  more  powerful,  it  seemed,  by  the  heighten- 
ing and  strengthening  force  of  righteous  wrath,  faced 
the- mightiest  man  in  the  kingdom.  Har-hat,  though 
a  little  surprised  and  puzzled,  was  none  the  less  com- 
placent, confident,  nonchalant.  Near  the  fan-bearer, 
but  behind  him,  were  the  ministers,  astonished  and 
puzzled.  But  since  the  past  days  had  been  so  filled 
with  momentous  events,  they  were  ready  to  expect  a 
crisis  at  the  slightest  incident. 

The  fan-bearer  did  not  look  at  the  king.  It  was 
Kenkenes  who  interested  him. 

The  young  man's  frame  did  not  show  a  tremor,  nor 
his  face  any  excitement.  There  was  an  intense  quies- 
cence in  his  whole  presence.  Hotep,  who  knew  the 
provocation  of  his  friend  and  interpreted  the  menace 
in  his  manner,  walked  swiftly  over  to  Kenkenes,  as  if 
to  caution  or  prevent.  But  the  young  sculptor  undid 
the  small  hands  of  the  king,  clinging  to  his  arm,  and 
gave  them  to  Hotep,  halting,  by  that  act,  all  interfer- 
ence from  the  scribe.  Then  he  crossed  the  little  space 
between  him  and  the  fan-bearer. 

"What  hast  thou  done  with  the  Israelite  ?"  he  asked 
in  a  tone  so  low  that  none  but  Har-hat  heard  him. 
But  the  fan-bearer  did  not  doubt  the  earnestness  in 
the  quiet  demand. 

"Hast  thou  come  to  trouble  the  king  with  thy  petty 
loves,  during  this,  the  hour  of  war  ?" 

"Answer!" 


564  THE   YOKE 

"She  escaped  me,"  the  fan-bearer  answered. 

"A  lie  will  not  save  thee;  the  truth  may  plead  for 
thee  before  Osiris.    Hast  thou  spoken  truly  ?" 

"I  have  said,  as  Osiris  hears  me.  Have  done ;  I  have 
no  more  time  for  thee !" 

"Stand  thou  there !    I  have  not  done  with  thee." 

The  thin  nostril  of  the  fan-bearer  expanded  and 
quivered  wrathfully. 

"Have  a  care,  thou  insolent !"  he  exclaimed. 

Kenkenes  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  He  had  turned 
toward  Meneptah. 

"I  have  dared  over-far,  my  King,"  he  said,  "because 
of  my  love  for  Egypt  and  my  concern  for  thee.  Bear 
with  me  further,  I  pray  thee." 

Meneptah  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

"Suffer  mine  inquiry,  O  Son  of  Ptah.  Wilt  thou  tell 
me  upon  whose  persuasion  thou  hast  gathered  thine 
army  and  set  forth  to  pursue  Israel  ?" 

"Upon  the  persuasion  of  Har-hat,  my  minister." 

"Yet  this  question  further,  my  King.  Wherefore 
would  he  have  thee  overtake  these  people  ?" 

"Since  it  was  foolish  to  let  them  go,  being  my  slaves, 
my  builders  and  very  needful  to  Egypt.  But  most 
particularly  to  execute  vengeance  upon  them  for  the 
death  of  my  Rameses,  and  for  the  first-born  of  Egypt." 

"Ye  hear,"  Kenkenes  said  to  the  nobles.  Then  he 
faced  Har-hat.  The  fan-bearer's  countenance  showed 
a  remarkable  increase  of  temper,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  apprehension  or  discomfiture  upon  it. 

"Thou  hast  beheld  the  grace  of  thy  king  under  ques- 
tion," Kenkenes  said  calmly.  "Therefore  thou  art  de- 
nied the  plea  that  submission  to  the  same  thing  will  be- 


"THE    PHARAOH    DREW    NIGH"        565 

little  thee.  Thy  best  defense  is  patience  and  prompt 
answer." 

"Perchance  the  king  will  recall  his  graceful  testi- 
mony," Har-hat  replied  with  heat,  "when  he  learns  he 
hath  been  entangled  in  the  guilty  pursuit  of  a  mis- 
creant after — " 

Kenkenes  stopped  him  with  a  menacing  gesture. 

"Say  it  not ;  nor  tempt  me  further !  Thou  speakest 
of  a  quarrel  between  thee  and  me,  and  of  that  there  may 
be  more  hereafter.  Now,  thou  art  to  answer  to  mine 
impeachment  of  thee  as  an  offender  against  the  Pha- 
raoh." 

Har-hat  received  the  declaration  with  a  wrathful 
exclamation. 

"Thou !  Thou  to  accuse  me !  I  to  plead  before  thee ! 
By  the  gods,  the  limit  is 'reached.  The  ranks  of  Egypt 
have  been  juggled,  the  law  of  deference  reversed!  A 
noble  to  bow  to  an  artisan !  Age  to  give  account  of  it- 
self to  green  youth !" 

"And  thou  pratest  of  law !  The  benefits  of  law  are 
for  him  who  obeys  it ;  the  reverence  of  youth  is  for  the 
honorable  old.  But  thou  wastest  mine  opportunity. 
Thou  shalt  silence  me  no  longer. 

"Thy  dearest  enemy,  O  Har-hat,"  Kenkenes  con- 
tinued, "would  not  impugn  thy  wits.  He  deserves  the 
epithet  himself  who  calls  thee  fool.  But  be  not  puffed 
up  for  this  thing  I  have  said.  Thou  hast  made  a  weap- 
on of  thy  wits  and  it  shall  recoil  upon  thee.  Thou 
seest  Egypt;  not  in  all  the  world  is  there  another 
empire  so  piteously  humbled.  Her  fields  are  white 
with  bones  instead  of  harvests ;  her  cities  are  loud  with 
mourning  instead  of  commerce ;  the  desert  hath  over- 


566  THE   YOKE 

run  the  valley.  And  this  from  the  hands  of  the  He- 
brews' God!  Who  doubts  it?  Hath  Egypt  won  any 
honor  in  this  quarrel  with  Israel?  Look  upon  Egypt 
and  learn.  Hath  the  army  of  the  Pharaoh  availed  him 
aught  against  these  afflictions  ?  Remember  the  polluted 
waters,  the  pests,  the  thunders,  the  darkness,  the  angel 
of  death  and  tell  me.  'Vengeance  ?'  Vengeance  upon  a 
God  who  hath  blasted  a  nation  with  His  breath  ?  Chas- 
tisement of  a  people  whose  murmurs  brought  down 
consuming  fire  upon  the  land  ?  And  yet,  for  vengeance 
and  chastisement  hast  thou  urged  the  king  to  follow 
after  Israel.  I  know  thee  better,  Har-hat !  That  ser- 
viceable wit  of  thine  hath  not  failed  thee  in  an  hour. 
Thou  hast  not  wearied  of  life  that  thou  courtest  de- 
struction by  the  Hebrews'  God.  Never  hast  thou 
meant  to  overtake  Israel !  Never  hast  thou  thought 
further  to  provoke  their  God!  Rather  was  it  thine 
intent  here,  somewhere  in  the  desert,  thyself  to  be  a 
plague  upon  Meneptah  and  wear  his  crown  after  him !" 

Confident  were  the  words,  portentous  the  manner  as 
though  proof  were  behind,  astounding  the  accusation* 
One  by  one  the  ministers  had  fallen  away  from  Har-hat 
and  placed  themselves  by  the  king.  After  a  long  time 
of  humiliation  for  them,  the  supplanter,  the  insulter, 
was  overtaken,  his  villainy  uncovered  to  the  eyes  of  the 
king.  Kenkenes  had  justified  them,  and  their  triumph 
had  come  with  a  gust  of  wrath  that  added  further  to 
their  relief. 

Hotep  gazed  fixedly  at  Kenkenes.  Where  had  this 
young  visionary,  new-released  from  prison,  found  evi- 
dence to  impeach  this  powerful  favorite  ?  How  was  he 
fortified  ?  What  would  be  his  next  play  ?  How  much 
more  did  he  know?   And  while  Hotep  asked  himself 


"THE    PHARAOH   DREW    NIGH"        567 

these  things,  trembling  for  Kenkenes,  Har-hat  put  the 
same  questions  to  himself.  The  roll  of  papyrus,  with 
its  seals,  still  in  the  young  man's  hands,  was  significant. 
He  folded  his  arms  and  forced  the  issue. 

"Your  proof,"  he  demanded. 

"Both  the  hour  and  need  of  my  proof  are  past. 
Already  art  thou  convicted."  Kenkenes  indicated  the 
king  and  the  ministers  behind  him.  The  fan-bearer 
followed  the  motion  of  the  arm  and  for  the  first  time 
met  the  gaze  of  the  angry  group. 

Kenkenes  had  not  ventured  blindly,  nor  dared  with- 
out deep  and  shrewd  thought.  When  the  artist-soul 
can  feel  the  fiercer  passions  it  has  the  capacity  to  work 
them  out  in  action.  Kenkenes,  having  been  wronged, 
grew  vengeful,  and  therefore  had  it  within  him  to  as- 
pire to  vengeance.  He  knew  his  handicap,  but  had 
estimated  well  his  strength.  With  calmness  and  de- 
liberation he  had  studied  conditions,  assembled  all  con- 
tingencies and  fortified  himself  against  them,  gathered 
hypotheses,  summarized  his  evidence  and  brought  about 
that  which  he  had  planned  to  accomplish — the  destruc- 
tion of  Har-hat's  rule  over  Meneptah. 

Har-hat  was  alone.  Before  him  were  all  the  powers 
of  the  land  arrayed  against  him.  Behind  him  in  Tanis 
was  Seti,  the  heir,  who  hated  him,  and  the  queen  who 
had  turned  her  back  upon  him.  He  had  not  seen  the 
need  of  friends  during  the  days  of  his  supremacy  over 
Meneptah.  Now,  not  all  his  denials,  eloquence,  subtle- 
ties could  establish  him  again  in  the  faith  of  the  fright- 
ened king.  His  ministership  had  crumbled  beyond  re- 
construction. What  would  avail  him,  then,  to  defend 
himself?  What  proof  had  he  to  offer  against  this  im- 
peachment?   The  young  man's  argument  met  him  at 


568  THE   YOKE 

every  avenue  toward  which  he  might  turn  for  escape. 
At  best  his  future  in  Egypt  would  be  mere  toleration ; 
the  worst,  condign  punishment. 

A  flame  of  feeling  surged  into  his  face.  With  a  wide 
sweep  of  his  arm,  as  though  to  thrust  away  pretense,  he 
faced  the  ministers,  all  the  defiance  and  audacity  of  his 
nature  faithfully  manifested  in  his  manner. 

"Why  wait  ye?  Would  ye  see  me  cringe?  Would 
ye  hear  me  deny,  protest,  deprecate  ?  Go  to !  ye  glower- 
ing churls,  I  disappoint  you !  Flock  to  the  king ;  dandle 
the  royal  babe  a  while !  Endure  the  stress  a  little,  for 
ye  will  not  serve  him  long.  And  thou,"  whirling  upon 
Kenkenes,  "dreamest  thou  I  fear  this  bloody  God  of 
Israel,  or  all  the  gibbering,  incense-sniffing,  pedestal- 
cumbering  gods  of  earth  ?  I  will  show  thee,  thou  rant- 
ing rabble  spawn!  See  which  of  us  hath  the  yellow- 
haired  wanton  when  I  return.  For  I  go  to  wrest  spoil 
and  fighting  men  from  Israel.  Then,  by  all  the  demons 
of  Amenti !  then,  I  say !  look  to  thy  crown,  thou  puny, 
puling  King  I" 

With  a  bound  he  broke  through  the  cordon  of  royal 
guards,  leaped  into  his  chariot,  and  putting  his  horses 
to  a  gallop,  drove  at  full  speed  to  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  army.  There,  in  an  instant,  clear  and  long- 
drawn,  his  command  to  mount  rang  over  the  desert. 
Front  and  rear,  wing  and  wing,  the  trumpets  took  up 
the  call,  "To  horse !"  A  second  command  in  the  strong 
voice,  a  second  winding  of  the  many  trumpets,  and  with 
a  rush  of  air  and  jar  of  earth  the  great  army  of  the 
Pharaoh  swept  like  the  wind  toward  the  sea. 

Kenkenes,  Menes,  Nechutes  and  those  of  the  royal 
guard  that  had  started  in  pursuit  of  the  traitor,  did 
well  to  save  themselves  from  annihilation  under  the 


"THE   PHARAOH   DREW   NIGH"        569 

hoofs  of  twenty  thousand  horse.  Bewildered  and 
amazed,  they  were  an  instant  realizing  what  was  tak- 
ing place. 

"He  is  running  away  with  the  army !"  they  said  to 
themselves  in  a  daze.  "He  is  running  away  with  the 
army!"  And  they  knew  that  not  all  the  efforts  of  the 
guards  and  the  ministers  and  the  Pharaoh  himself 
would  avail,  for  the  army  had  received  its  orders  from 
its  great  commander  and  no  man  but  he  might  turn  it 
back. 

So  the  short-poled  chariots,  multi-tinted  and  gor- 
geous, wheel  to  wheel,  axle-deep  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
glittered  out  across  the  desert — sixty  ranks,  ten  abreast. 
Far  to  the  left  moved  the  horsemen,  the  dust  of  their 
rapid  passage  hiding  their  galloping  mounts  up  to  the 
stirrup.  To  the  watchers  by  the  king  they  seemed  like 
an  undulant  sea  of  quilted  helmets  and  flying  tassels, 
while  the  sunlight  smote  through  a  level  and  straight- 
set  forest  of  spears.  They  were  seasoned  veterans, 
many  of  them  heroes  of  a  quarter-century  of  wars. 
They  had  followed  Rameses  the  Great  into  Asia  and 
had  extended  the  empire  and  the  prowess  of  arms  to 
the  farthest  corners  of  the  known  world.  They  had 
drunk  the  sweets  of  unalloyed  victory  from  the  blue 
Nile  to  the  Euphrates  and  had  filled  Egypt  with  booty, 
scented  with  the  airs  of  Arabia,  gorgeous  from  the 
looms  of  India,  and  heavy  with  the  ivory  and  gold  of 
Ethiopia. 

Now  they  went  in  formidable  array  in  pursuit  of  two 
millions  of  slaves  to  dye  their  axes  in  unresisting  blood, 
to  return,  not  as  victors  over  a  heroic  foe,  but  as  drivers 
of  men,  herders  of  sheep  and  cattle,  and  laden  with  in- 
glorious spoil. 


570  THE   YOKE 

Behind  them,  in  regular  ranks,  beaten  by  their  driv- 
ers into  an  awkward  run,  came  the  sumpter-mules,  and 
after  them  the  rumbling  carts  filled  with  provision. 

Meneptah,  raging  and  weeping,  saw  his  army  leave 
him  and  gallop  in  an  aureole  of  dust  toward  the  Red 
Sea. 

Thus  it  was  that  "the  Pharaoh  drew  nigh,"  but  came 
no  farther  after  Israel. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE   WAY   TO   THE   SEA 

Kenkenes  did  not  remain  long-  in  the  apathy  of 
amazement  and  helplessness.  Consternation  possessed 
him  the  instant  he  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  realize 
and  speculate.  He  had  saved  the  king  and  exposed 
Har-hat,  but  the  accomplishing  of  this  temporary  good 
had  forced  the  probable  commission  of  a  great  evil.  If 
death  in  some  form  did  not  overtake  the  fan-bearer 
he  could  enrich  and  strengthen  himself  from  Israel. 
Then,  even  if  Meneptah's  army  did  not  continue  to  fol- 
low him,  he  would  be  enabled  to  buy  mercenaries  and 
return  equipped  to  do  battle  with  Meneptah,  even  as  he 
had  vowed.  The  flower  of  the  military  was  with  him ; 
the  Pharaoh  was  incapable  and  Egypt  demoralized. 
The  success  of  the  traitor  seemed  assured.  What  then 
of  Rachel,  of  his  own  father,  of  the  faithful  ministers, 
of  all  whom  Kenkenes  had  loved  or  befriended?  The 
thought  filled  him  with  resolution  and  vigor. 

"If  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  overtake  him  not,"  he 
said,  returning  to  the  king,  "then  must  I !  For,  in  my 
good  intent,  it  seems  that  I  have  undone  thee.  Hotep," 
he  continued,  taking  the  scribe's  hands,  "let  my  father 
know  that  I  died  not  with  the  first-born.  Also,  thou 
seest  the  danger  into  which  the  nation  hath  descended 

571 


572  THE   YOKE 

in  this  hour.  Help  thou  the  king !  I  return  not.  Fare- 
well." 

He  kissed  the  scribe  on  the  lips,  and  freeing  himself 
from  his  clinging  hands,  ran  through  the  broken  line 
of  the  royal  guards. 

The  army  was  already  a  compact  cluster  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  rolling  cloud  of  dust  to  the  south. 

When  Nechutes  had  aroused  him  before  daybreak, 
the  cup-bearer  had  brought  Hotep  with  him,  and  while 
the  messenger  broke  his  fast,  he  had  availed  himself 
of  the  scribe's  presence  to  learn  many  things.  Not  the 
smallest  part  of  his  information  was  the  fact  that  the 
Pharaoh's  scouts  had  located  Israel  encamped  on  a 
sedgy  plain  at  the  base  of  a  great  hill  on  the  northern- 
most arm  of  the  Red  Sea.  Meneptah's  army  had 
marched  twenty-five  miles  due  south  of  Pithom  and 
pitched  its  tents  for  the  night.  It  was  twenty-five  miles 
from  that  point  to  Baal-Zephon  or  the  hill  before  which 
Israel  had  camped.  The  fugitives  had  chosen  the 
smoothest  path  for  travel,  keeping  along  the  Bitter 
Lakes  that  their  cattle  might  feed.  Their  track  led  in 
a  southeasterly  direction. 

But  Har-hat,  making  off  with  the  army,  had  struck 
due  south.  He  had  chosen  this  line  for  more  than 
one  advantage  it  offered.  The  Arabian  desert  ap- 
proached the  sea  in  a  series  of  plateaux  or  steps.  The 
most  westerly  was  surmounted  by  a  ridge  of  high  hills, 
higher  probably  than  any  other  chain  within  the  boun- 
daries of  Egypt.  The  most  easterly  overlooked  the  sea- 
beach  and  was  originally,  it  may  be,  the  old  sea  margin. 
At  points  the  table-land  advanced  within  sight  of  the 
water ;  at  other  localities  an  intervening  space  of  several 


THE   WAY   TO   THE   SEA  573 

miles  lay  between  it  and  the  sea.  The  summit  was  flat, 
at  least  smooth  enough  for  the  passage  of  horsemen, 
and  at  all  times  it  was  a  good  field  for  strategic  ma- 
noeuverings  by  an  army  arrayed  against  anything 
which  might  be  on  the  beach  below. 

If  Meneptah's  scouts  had  reported  truly,  Israel  had 
behind  it  a  hill,  east  of  it  the  sea.  West  of  it  the 
army  would  approach.  South  only  could  it  flee,  into 
a  torrid,  arid,  uninhabited  desert. 

The  slaves  were  entrapped.  The  pursuer  had  but  to 
follow  the  pursued  in  the  only  open  direction,  and  over- 
take the  starving,  thirsting  multitude  at  last.  But  from 
Har-hat's  movement  he  had  meant  to  continue  along 
this  plateau,  out  of  sight  of  Israel,  until  he  had  posted 
part  of  his  army  in  the  way  of  escape  to  the  south. 
Kenkenes  reached  this  conclusion  without  much  pon- 
dering. He  had  his  own  manoeuverings  in  mind.  Of 
the  captain  of  Israel,  Prince  Mesu,  he  would  discover, 
first,  if  the  Lord  God  had  prepared  him  against  Har- 
hat.  This  grave  question  answered  to  the  repose  of 
his  mind  concerning  the  welfare  of  Israel,  the  path  of 
his  next  duty  would  be  clearly  laid  for  him.  He  would 
join  the  army  and  take  the  life  of  the  fan-bearer,  for 
the  sake  of  all  he  loved,  and  Egypt.  In  the  course  of 
the  day's  events  his  motive  had  been  exalted  from  the 
personal  desire  for  revenge  to  the  high  intent  of  a 
patriot.  He  felt  most  confident  that  he  would  forfeit 
his  own  life  in  the  act. 

Not  an  instant  did  he  hesitate. 

Ahead  of  him  was  the  narrow  bed  of  a  miniature 
torrent  which  rolled  out  of  the  desert  during  the  infre- 
quent rains.    Now  it  was  dry,  packed  hard,  free  of  all 


574  THE   YOKE 

obstructions  except  the  great  boulders,  and  led  in  a 
comparatively  straight  line  toward  the  sea.  It  was  an 
ideal  stretch  for  running. 

He  summoned  all  his  forces,  gathering,  in  a  mighty 
mental  effort,  all  that  depended  on  his  speed,  and  took 
the  path  with  a  leap.  The  dazed  king  and  his  ministers 
saw  him  with  whom  they  had  that  moment  talked 
stretch  a  vast  and  ever-widening  breach  between  them 
with  a  bat-like  swoop,  and  while  they  watched  he  was 
swallowed  up  in  distance. 

The  bed  of  the  torrent  served  him  for  the  first  few 
miles.  Then  it  turned  abruptly  toward  the  Bitter 
Lakes.  He  left  it  and  entered  the  rougher  country. 
Thereafter  no  great  bursts  of  speed  were  possible,  be- 
cause the  runner  had  to  pick  his  way.  He  ran,  not 
with  a  steady  pace,  each  stride  equal  to  the  preceding, 
but  with  bounds,  aside  and  forward,  dimly  calculating 
the  safety  of  the  footfall. 

Suddenly  a  column  of  sand  rose  under  his  feet,  and 
he  dashed  through  it.  Blinded  and  choking,  he  cleared 
his  eyes,  caught  his  breath  and  ran  on.  A  gust  of  wind, 
like  a  breath  of  flame,  met  him  from  the  east  and 
passed.  Then  he  realized  that  the  atmosphere  had 
thickened,  as  if  an  opaque  cloud  of  heat  had  enveloped 
the  earth.  He  glanced  at  the  sky  and  saw  that  it  was 
strewn  with  fragmentary  clouds,  but  a  little  south  and 
east  of  him  was  the  pillar,  unmoving  and  gilded 
royally. 

There  was  storm  in  the  air. 

Finally  the  region  began  to  grow  level,  proving  the 
proximity  to  the  sea.  In  another  moment  he  came  upon 
the  old  sea  bed.  It  was  sandy,  sedge-grown,  with  here 
and  there  a  palm,  and  tremendously  trampled. 


THE   WAY   TO   THE    SEA  575 

Israel  had  passed  this  way. 

The  clash  and  ring  of  meeting  metal  fell  on  his 
ear.  He  looked  and  saw  ahead  of  him  two  men  fight- 
ing with  a  third.  Three  horses  with  empty  saddles 
nervously  watched  the  fray. 

The  single  combatant  was  a  soldier  in  the  uniform  of 
a  common  fighting  man.  One  of  the  pair  was  a  tall 
Nubian  in  a  striped  tunic ;  the  other  was  an  Egyptian, 
short,  fat,  purple  of  countenance — Unas ! 

With  a  furious  exclamation,  Kenkenes  slackened 
his  pace  only  long  enough  to  undo  the  falchion  at  his 
side  and  rushed  to  the  fight.  It  did  not  matter  to  him 
who  the  soldier  was  or  what  his  cause.  The  fact  that 
he  was  fighting  the  emissaries  of  Har-hat  was  sufficient 
indorsement  of  the  lone  soldier.  But  even  as  he  sprang 
forward,  Unas  sank  on  the  sand,  moved  convulsively 
once  or  twice  and  lay  still. 

The  soldier  staggered  back  from  the  second  servitor 
and  fell.  The  Nubian,  standing  over  him,  swung  his 
heavy  weapon  aloft,  but  Kenkenes  thrust  his  falchion 
over  the  fallen  man  and  caught  the  blow,  as  it  descend- 
ed, upon  the  broad  back  of  the  blade. 

"Set  receive  your  cursed  soul,"  the  Nubian  snarled. 
Kenkenes  leaped  across  the  prostrate  soldier,  and  si- 
multaneously the  weapons  went  up,  descended  and 
clashed.    Then  followed  a  wild  and  fearful  battle. 

The  Egyptian  falchion  was  nothing  more  than  a 
sword-shaped  ax.  Therefore,  these  were  not  tongues 
of  steel  which  would  whip  their  supple  length  one 
across  the  other  and  fill  the  air  with  the  lightning  of 
their  play  and  the  devilish  beauty  of  their  music.  The 
vanquished  would  not  taste  the  nice  death  of  a  spitted 
heart.    There  was  yet  the  method  of  the  stone-ax  war- 


576  THE   YOKE 

riors  in  this  battle,  and  he  who  fell  would  be  a  fearful 
thing  to  see. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  Kenkenes  was  stronger  and 
more  agile;  perhaps  he  remembered  Deborah  at  that 
moment,  or  perhaps  he  was  simply  a  better  fighter. 
Whatever  the  cause  his  blade  went  up  and  descended 
at  last,  before  the  Nubian  could  parry,  and  the  second 
servitor  of  Har-hat  fell  on  his  face  and  died. 

Chilled  by  the  instant  sobering,  which  follows  the 
taking  of  life,  the  young  man  sickened  and  whirled 
away  from  the  quivering  flesh.  Plunging  his  falchion 
in  the  sand  to  hide  its  stain,  he  went  back  to  the  fallen 
soldier. 

He  knew  by  the  look  on  the  gray  face,  by  the  dark 
pool  that  had  grown  beside  him,  that  the  warrior  had 
fought  his  last  fight.  Kenkenes  raised  the  man's  head, 
and  heard  these  words,  faintly  spoken : 

"He  sent  them  in  pursuit.  I  knew  he  meant  to  do  it, 
but  I  could  not  get  near  to  kill  him.  So  I  followed 
them.  But  thou  art  her  lover;  do  thou  protect  her 
now." 

"Her!  Rachel?"  Kenkenes  cried.    "Who  art  thou?" 

"Atsu,  once  her  taskmaster,  always  her — "  the  voice 
died  away. 

"Where  is  she  ?"  Kenkenes  implored.  "In  the  name 
of  thy  gods,  go  not  yet !  Where  is  she  ?" 

The  lips  parted  in  answer,  but  no  sound  came.  The 
arm  went  up  as  if  to  point,  but  it  fell  limp  without  in- 
dicating direction,  and  with  a  sigh  the  soldier  turned 
his  face  away. 

Sobbing,  wild  with  anxiety  and  grief,  Kenkenes 
shook  the  inert  body,  pleading  frantically  for  some  sign 


THE   WAY   TO   THE   SEA  577 

to  guide  him  to  Rachel.  But  there  was  no  response, 
for  the  dead  speak  not  out  of  Amenti. 

At  last  Kenkenes  laid  the  body  down  and  stood  up. 
It  had  come  to  him  very  plainly  that,  but  for  Atsu, 
already  these  dead  servitors  would  have  been  beyond 
overtaking  in  pursuit  of  his  love.  Though  a  worship- 
er of  Israel's  God,  Kenkenes  was  still  Egyptian  in  his 
instincts.  The  man  who  had  died  to  save  Rachel  he 
could  not  bury  uncoffined  in  a  grave  of  sand,  where 
the  natural  processes  of  dissolution  would  destroy  him 
utterly.  His  and  Rachel's  debts  to  Atsu  were  great, 
and  the  demand  was  made  upon  him  now  to  discharge 
all  that  was  possible  in  the  one  act  of  caring  for  the 
dead  soldier's  remains.  Kenkenes  could  not  bear  the 
body  back  to  the  group  he  had  left  about  the  king,  for 
he  had  a  mission  which  concerned  all  the  living  who 
were  dear  to  him.  Furthermore  the  sky  was  threaten- 
ing, the  desert  was  a  terrible  place  during  high  winds, 
and  he  dared  not  delay. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  Travelers  and  sea- 
faring men  had  told  him  that  there  were  settlements 
along  the  Red  Sea.  Might  he  not  go  forward,  on  his 
way  after  Israel,  till  he  found  one  of  these? 

He  led  the  largest  horse  past  the  dead  servitors,  and 
persuading  it  to  stand,  lifted  the  body  of  Atsu  upon  its 
back.  With  difficulty  he  mounted,  and  supporting  the 
limp  burden  with  one  arm,  turned  again  toward  the 
southeast. 

As  he  went  forward,  Kenkenes  meditated  on  the 
signs  of  this  recent  and  tragic  event.  He  had 
searched  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Goshen 
for  Rachel  and  none  had  seen  her  or  heard  of  her 


578  THE   YOKE 

since  she  had  fled  from  Har-hat  into  the  desert,  eight 
months  before  he  had  seen  her  last.  Israel  was  more 
ignorant  of  the  whereabouts  of  Rachel  than  he.  He 
could  not  tell  whether  Har-hat  knew  where  she  was, 
nor  could  he  guess  from  the  position  of  the  fighters 
in  which  direction  the  servants  had  meant  to  ride.  The 
tracks  of  their  horses  were  not  to  be  discovered  in  the 
great  trampled  roadway  Israel  had  made. 

Of  this  thing  Kenkenes  was  sure.  If  Rachel  were 
with  Israel  she  had  joined  it  after  he  had  left  Goshen. 
In  that  case  he  was  going  to  her,  to  ask  after  her  safety, 
when  he  inquired  after  all  Israel.  If  she  were  still  in 
Egypt  he  would  stop  Har-hat's  search  for  ever.  This 
recollection  added  to  his  determination  and  intensified 
his  zeal. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  great  fields  of  sea-grass  he 
came  upon  a  little  hamlet.  It  was  a  considerable  dis- 
tance inland,  and  the  chief  industry  of  the  people  could 
have  been  only  the  gathering  of  sedge  for  hay,  or  the 
curing  of  herb  and  root  for  medicines.  Some  of  the 
villagers  were  in  sight  but  the  most  of  them  were  out 
in  the  direction  of  the  lakes,  laboring  in  the  marsh 
grass. 

In  the  course  of  the  past  year's  events  Kenkenes  had 
learned  to  be  a  cautious  and  skilful  fugitive.  He  did 
not  care  to  be  caught  and  taxed  with  the  death  of  the 
man  whose  body  he  bore.  The  village  shrine  was  the 
structure  nearest  to  him.  It  was  built  of  sun-dried 
brick,  with  three  walls,  the  fourth  side  open  to  the  sun- 
rise. Kenkenes  dismounted  and  reconnoitered.  The 
shrine  was  empty,  and  none  of  the  villagers  was  near. 

He  lifted  the  dead  man  from  the  horse  and  bore  the 
body  into  the  sanctuary.    Before  the  image  of  Athor 


THE   WAY   TO   THE    SEA  579 

was  a  long  table  overlaid  with  a  slab  of  red  sandstone. 
Here  the  offerings  were  left  and  here  Kenkenes  laid 
Atsu,  a  true  sacrifice  to  the  love  deity.  Reverently  the 
young  man  closed  the  eyes  and  straightened  the  chill- 
ing limbs.  Going  into  his  patrimony  of  jewels  sewn 
in  his  belt,  he  took  an  emerald,  and  putting  it  in  the 
hands,  crossed  them  above  the  breast.  Then  he  laid  his 
mantle  over  the  bier. 

At  the  threshold  he  found  a  soft  stone  and  with  that 
he  wrote  upon  the  head  of  the  long  table  the  name  of 
the  dead  man,  and  Mendes,  his  native  city.  Under  this 
he  wrote  further  to  the  villagers,  charging  them,  in 
the  name  of  the  goddess,  to  care  for  the  body  reverently 
and  return  it  to  the  tomb  of  Atsu's  fathers.  Having 
made  note  of  the  emerald  as  remuneration  for  their 
labors,  he  completed  the  inscription  without  signature. 

Thus  he  insured  the  safety  and  preservation  of  the 
bones  of  Atsu,  and  in  the  eye  of  the  average  Egyptian 
he  had  served  the  soldier  well.  But  Kenkenes  was  not 
satisfied. 

As  he  left  the  shrine  he  muttered  with  trembling 
lips: 

"Bless  him !  The  fate  is  not  kind  which  yields  to 
such  goodness  no  reward  save  gratitude.  There  must 
be,  because  of  the  great  God's  justness,  some  especial 
blessing  laid  up  for  Atsu." 

In  the  time  he  had  spent  in  the  sanctuary  the  atmos- 
phere had  grown  hazy  and  the  sun  shone  obscurely. 
To  the  east  were  tumbled  and  darkening  masses,  which 
gathered  even  as  he  looked  and  joined  till  they  stretched 
in  a  vast  and  unillumined  sweep  about  the  horizon. 
The  wind  had  died  and  the  heat  bathed  him  in  perspira- 
tion. 


580  THE   YOKE 

Once  again  his  eyes  sought  the  pillar  and  found  it 
above  him,  still  somewhat  to  the  east,  yet  in  form  un- 
changed, in  hue  undimmed.  Something  within  him 
associated  the  column  of  cloud  with  Israel  and  Israel's 
God. 

He  went  to  his  horse  and  found  him  terrified  and 
unmanageable.  After  vain  efforts  to  soothe  the  crea- 
ture, he  walked  away  a  little  space,  clasping  his  hands. 

"O  Thou  mysterious  God!  By  these  tokens  Thy 
hand  is  upon  the  earth  and  upon  the  heavens.  Even  as 
Thou  hast  shielded  me  thus  far,  withdraw  not  Thy 
sheltering  hand  from  about  me,  Thy  worshiper,  in  this, 
Thy  latest  hour  of  mystery." 

He  skirted  the  village,  now  filling  with  frightened 
peasants,  and  took  the  path  of  Israel. 

It  led  in  a  southeasterly  direction  toward  a  far-off 
hill,  barely  outlined  through  the  haze  of  the  distance. 
Meanwhile  the  darkness  settled  and  over  the  sea  the 
somber  bastion  of  cloud  heaved  its  sooty  bulk  up  the 
sky.  The  air  stagnated  and  the  whole  desert  was 
soundless. 

A  round  and  tumbled  mass,  blue-black  but  attended 
by  a  copper-colored  rack,  detached  itself  from  a  shelf- 
like stratum  of  cloud,  and  elongating,  seemed  to  de- 
scend to  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Daylight  went  out 
instantly  and  a  prolonged  moan  came  from  the  distant 
east.  Blinding  flashes  of  lightning  illuminated  the 
whirling  mass  and  almost  absolute  darkness  fell  after 
each  bolt.  Out  of  the  inky  midnight  toward  the  east 
came  an  ever-increasing  sound  of  a  maddened  sea, 
gathering  in  volume  and  fury  and  menace.  Kenkenes 
flung  himself  on  his  face  and  waited. 

He  did  not  have  long  to  wait. 


THE   WAY   TO   THE    SEA  581 

With  a  noise  of  mighty  rending,  reinforced  by  a 
continuous  roll  of  savage  thunder,  the  storm  struck. 
A  spinning  cone  of  wind  caught  a  great  expanse  of 
sand,  and  lifting  the  loose  covering,  carried  a  huge 
twisting  column  inland — death  and  entombment  for 
any  living  thing  it  met.  With  it  went  a  great  blast  of 
spray,  stones,  sea-weed,  masses  of  sedge  uprooted  bod- 
ily, much  wreckage,  palm  trees,  small  huts  which  went 
to  pieces  as  they  were  carried  along,  wild  and  domestic 
animals,  anything  and  everything  that  lay  in  the  path 
of  the  storm. 

The  rotatory  movement  passed  with  the  first  whirl, 
but  a  hurricane,  blowing  with  overcoming  velocity, 
pressed  like  a  wall  against  anything  that  strove  to  face 
it.  Its  hoarse  raving  filled  Kenkenes'  ears  with  titanic 
sound.  The  breath  was  snatched  from  his  nostrils ;  his 
eyelids,  tightly  closed,  were  stung  with  sharply  driven 
sand.  Though  he  struggled  to  his  feet  and  attempted 
to  proceed,  he  staggered  and  wandered  and  was  prone 
to  turn  away  from  the  solid  breast  of  the  mighty  blast. 
He  could  not  hope  to  make  headway  blinded,  yet  he 
dared  not  lift  his  face  to  the  sand.  He  could  make  a 
shelter  over  his  eyes  that  he  might  watch  his  feet,  but 
he  could  not  discover  path  and  direction  in  this  man- 
ner. 

The  day  was  far  advanced,  and  already  the  army  had 
outstripped  him.  Might  not  Har-hat  at  this  hour  be 
descending  with  his  veterans,  seasoned  against  the 
simoons  of  Arabia,  upon  Israel,  demoralized  in  the 
storm? 

Desperate,  the  young  man  dropped  his  hands  and 
flung  up  his  head. 

He  was  standing  in  a  soft  light,  very  faintly  diffused 


582  THE   YOKE 

about  him  but  narrowing  ahead  of  him,  brightening,  as 
it  contracted,  into  almost  daytime  brilliance  to  the 
south.  The  illuminated  strip  was  not  wide  ;  the  plateau 
to  the  west  was  dark;  the  farther  east  likewise  storm- 
obscured.  Taking  courage,  he  raised  his  eyes  for  an 
instant.  The  drifting  sand  would  not  permit  a  longer 
contemplation,  but  in  that  fleeting  glimpse  he  discov- 
ered the  source  of  the  supernatural  radiance.  The 
pillar  was  tinged  like  a  cloud  in  the  sunset,  with  a  mel- 
low and  benign  fire. 

Kenkenes  did  not  marvel  and  was  not  perplexed. 
The  miracles  no  longer  amazed  him,  but  he  had  not 
become  indifferent  or  unthankful.  Each  forward  step 
he  took  was  a  declaration  of  faith ;  the  thrill  of  relief 
in  his  veins,  a  psalm  of  thanksgiving.  The  stones  were 
as  many  and  as  sharp,  the  way  as  untender,  and  the 
mighty  tempest  strove  against  him  as  powerfully,  but 
he  followed  the  ray,  trusting  it  implicitly. 

Night  fell  unnoticed  for  it  merged  with  the  super- 
natural darkness  of  the  day. 

At  the  summit  of  the  slope  which  led  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  he  paused.  Below  him  was,  a  gentle 
declivity  ending  to  the  south  in  darkness.  There  was 
not  a  glimmer  of  radiance  on  the  sea.  Far  to  the 
east  could  be  heard  the  sound  of  infuriated  surges, 
storming  the  rocks,  but  dense  darkness  shrouded  all 
the  distance.  Only  the  beach  directly  under  him 
was  alight.  The  shadows  cast  were  blacker  than 
daylight  shadows,  and  the  radiance  had  a  touch  of 
gold,  which  gilded  everything  beneath  it.  The  poorest 
object  was  enriched,  the  gaudiest  subdued. 

Had  the  number  of  Israel  been  ten  thousand  or  even 


THE   WAY   TO    THE    SEA  583 

a  hundred  thousand,  Kenkenes  might  have  had  some 
conception  of  the  multitude.  The  millions  massed  be- 
low him  on  the  sand  were  not  to  be  looked  on  except 
as  a  vast  unit. 

The  tribes  were  divided,  the  herds  were  collected 
at  the  rear  or  inland  side,  and  the  lepers  were  isolated, 
but  no  order  in  detail  was  possible.  Tents  were  down, 
goods  were  being  gathered,  and  much  commotion  was 
apparent.  Even  at  a  distance  Kenkenes  could  see 
that  consternation  and  dismay  were  rife  among  Israel. 
The  whole  valley  was  murmurous  with  subdued  out- 
cry, and  a  multitudinous  lowing  and  bleating  of  the 
herds  swept  up,  blown  wildly  by  the  hurricane. 

The  senses,  too,  are  limited  in  their  grasp,  even  as 
the  brain  has  bounds  upon  its  conception.  The  di- 
mensions, movement  and  sound  of  the  multitude  over- 
taxed the  eye  and  ear. 

Was  it  the  storm  or  the  army  that  had  frightened 
them? 

Slipping  and  sliding  in  his  haste,  he  descended  the 
slope  without  care  for  the  sound  he  made.  The  hil- 
locks and  hollows  that  interposed  irritated  him.  His 
impatience  made  him  forget  his  great  weariness. 
Israel's  helpless  ones  to  the  sword,  Israel's  treasure 
open  to  the  enrichment  of  a  traitor,  Israel's  fighting- 
men  driven  to  rally  to  his  standard — Rachel's  people, 
to  be  mastered  by  Har-hat ! 

Great  was  his  intent  and  its  scope,  and  how  cheaply 
attained  if  it  cost  but  two  lives — his  enemy's  and  his 
own !  How  much  depended  upon  him !  His  en- 
thusiasm and  zeal  put  out  of  his  sight  all  his  young 
reluctance  to  surrender  life  and  the  world.  He  could 
have   explained,   truthfully,    from   his   own    feelings, 


584  THE   YOKE 

what  it  is  that  enables  men  to  suffer  an  eager  martyr- 
dom. 

Two  Hebrews  outside  the  limits  of  the  camp  halted 
him. 

"I  bring  tidings  to  your  captain,"  he  explained.  The 
answer  was  swept  from  the  speaker's  lips  and  carried 
astray  by  the  wind,  but  he  caught  these  words. 

"Thou  art  an  Egyptian.  Thy  kind  hath  no  friend- 
ship for  Israel." 

"I  am  of  Egypt,  but  I  am  one  with  you  in  faith. 
Conduct  me  to  the  prince,  I  pray  you." 

"Take  him,"  said  one  to  the  other.     "He  is  but  one." 

The  Hebrew,  thus  addressed,  motioned  Kenkenes 
to  follow  him,  and  turned  toward  the  encampment. 

They  passed  through  a  lane  between  two  tribes. 
Kenkenes  guessed,  looking  first  upon  one  and  then  the 
other,  that  there  were  one  hundred  thousand  in  the 
two.  Strip  a  city  of  her  plan  and  shape,  her  houses, 
her  pleasures  and  commerce;  leave  only  her  people, 
their  smallest  possessions,  and  all  their  fears;  beset 
such  a  city  with  an  army  on  three  sides,  the  sea  on 
the  fourth  and  a  furious  hurricane  over  all — and  in 
such  state  and  of  such  appearance  were  these  two 
tribes. 

Kenkenes  fortified  himself  and  resisted  with  all  his 
might  the  contagious  panic  that  seemed  about  to  attack 
him.  As  well  as  he  might,  he  concentrated  his  mind 
upon  other  things.  He  noted  that  the  shadows  were 
long  like  those  of  afternoon.  Turning  his  head,  he 
saw  that  the  pillar  stood  behind  the  encampment  and 
that  its  light  was  thrown  forward  and  downward,  not 
backward  and  outward.     Very  manifestly,  the  benefits 


THE   WAY   TO   THE    SEA  585 

of  the  miracle  were  only  for  the  believers  in  Jehovah. 
The  marvel  brought  into  the  young  man's  mind  some 
natural  speculation  concerning  the  great  miracle- 
worker  to  whom  his  guide  was  leading  him.  What 
manner  of  man  was  he  about  to  look  upon, — a  sorcerer, 
a  trafficker  in  horrors,  a  confounder  of  men? 

Ahead,  particularly  illumined  by  the  celestial  light, 
was  a  group  of  elders— great,  grave  men,  misted  in 
the  flying  fleeces  of  their  own  beards.  They  bent 
firmly  against  the  blast  and  the  broad  streaming  of 
their  ample  drapings  added  much  to  the  idea  of  super- 
natural power  and  resistance  they  inspired. 

The  Hebrew  leading  Kenkenes  slackened  his  step 
as  if  hesitating  to  approach  so  venerable  a  council, 
when  suddenly  the  group  separated,  revealing  a  majes- 
tic man  about  whom  it  had  been  clustered. 

After  a  word  in  his  own  tongue,  delivered  with 
bent  head  and  deferential  attitude,  the  Hebrew  stood 
aside. 

Kenkenes  prepared  to  meet  a  prince  of  Egypt,  what- 
ever the  personality  of  the  Israelite.  He  dropped  on 
one  knee,  bent  his  head  and  extended  his  hand  with 
the  palm  toward  Moses.  The  great  man  took  the 
fingers  and  bade  the  young  Egyptian  arise.  Forty 
years  a  courtier,  forty  years  a  shepherd,  but  the  graces 
of  the  one  had  not  been  forgotten  in  the  simplicities 
of  the  other.  When  Kenkenes  gained  his  feet,  lo! 
he  faced  the  wondrous  stranger  he  had  seen  in  the 
tomb  of  the  Incomparable  Pharaoh. 

At  a  sign  from  Moses  Kenkenes  came  near  to  him, 
that  the  howl  of  the  tempest  and  the  turmoil  of  Israel 
might  not  drown  their  voices. 


586  THE   YOKE 

"Thou  art  weary,  my  son,"  the  Israelite  said,  glanc- 
ing at  the  tired  face  and  dusty  raiment.  "Hast  thou 
come  from  afar  ?" 

"From  Goshen  to  Tanis,  and  hither,  O  Prince." 

"Afoot?" 

"Even  so." 

"Thou  hast  journeyed  farther  than  Israel,  and 
Israel  is  most  weary.     I  trust  thy  journey  is  done." 

And  this  was  the  confounder  of  Egypt,  the  vicar 
of  God — this  kindly  noble ! 

"Not  yet,  O  Prince;  but  its  dearest  mission  endeth 
here.  I  come  of  the  blood  of  the  oppressors,  but  I 
am  full  of  pity  for  thy  people's  wrongs.  Knowest 
thou  that  the  Egyptians  pursue  thee?  Is  thy  hand 
made  strong  with  resource  ?  Hath  the  Lord  God  pre- 
pared thee  against  them?" 

"From  whom  art  thou  sent?"  the  Israelite  asked 
pointedly. 

"I  am  come  of  mine  own  accord." 

"Wherefore?" 

"Because  I  am  one  with  Israel  in  faith." 

The  great  Lawgiver  surveyed  him  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  but  the  penetrative  brilliance  in  his  eyes  soft- 
ened. 

"Wast  thou  taught  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"In  casting  away  the  idols,  nay ;  in  finding  the  true 
God,  I  was." 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  Israel  lifted  up  its  voice, 
and  to  Kenkenes  it  seemed  that  the  people  besought 
their  great  captain,  urgingly  and  chidingly.  The 
Lawgiver  listened  for  a  little  space.  His  gaze  was 
absent,  the  lines  of  his  face  were  sad.  Something 
in  his  attitude  seemed  to  say,  "What  profiteth  all  Thy 


THE   WAY   TO   THE    SEA  587 

care,  O  Lord  ?    Behold  Thy  chosen — these  men  of  little 
faith !" 

Then,  as  if  some  thought  of  the  young  proselyte, 
the  Egyptian,  arose  in  contrast,  his  eyes  came  back  to 
Kenkenes  again. 

"Thou  hast  filled  me  with  gladness,  my  son,"  he 
said  simply. 

Kenkenes  bowed  his  head  and  made  no  answer. 
Presently  the  Israelite  spoke  to  the  panic-stricken 
people  nearest  to  him.  In  the  tone  and  the  words  he 
used  there  was  a  world  of  paternal  kindliness — a  com- 
posite of  confidence,  reassurance,  and  implied  protec- 
tion, that  should  have  soothed. 

"Fear  ye  not ;  stand  still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the 
Lord.  For  the  Egyptians  ye  have  seen  this  day,  ye 
shall  see  again  no  more  for  ever." 

At  the  words,  Kenkenes  lifted  his  head  quickly. 
The  Hebrew  had  answered  his  question,  but  how  enig- 
matically! Was  Israel  to  escape,  or  Har-hat  to  be 
destroyed?  In  either  case,  the  young  man  wondered 
concerning  himself.  Again  the  eyes  of  the  Lawgiver 
returned  to  him,  as  if  the  sight  of  the  young  Egyptian 
was  grateful  to  him. 

"Abide  with  us,"  he  said.  "Saith  not  thy  faith, 
'Fear  not ;  the  Lord  shall  fight  for  thee  ?'  " 

Kenkenes'  face  wore  a  startled  expression ;  how  had 
the  Israelite  divined  his  purpose?  "Saith  not  thy 
faith  ?"  Faith  ?  He  confessed  faith,  but  faith  had  not 
spoken  that  thing  to  him.  Slowly  and  little  by  little 
it  began  to  manifest  itself  to  him,  that  he  had  wavered 
in  his  trust;  that  the  purpose  of  his  visit  to  Israel  had 
questioned  the  fidelity  of  his  God's  care ;  that  so  surely 
had  he  doubted,  he  had  defied  danger  and  fought  with 


588  THE   YOKE 

death  to  ask  after  the  intent  of  the  Lord ;  that  he  had 
meant  to  perform  the  duty  which  the  Lord  had  left 
undone.  The  realization  came  with  a  rush  of  shame. 
In  the  asking  he  had  betrayed  his  wavering,  and  Moses 
had  tactfully  told  him  of  it.  A  surge  of  color  swept 
over  his  face. 

"Thou  hast  recalled  my  trust  to  me,  my  Prince," 
he  said  in  a  lowered  tone.  "Till  now,  I  knew  not  that 
it  had  failed  me.  But  remember  thou,  it  was  my  love 
for  Israel — O,  and  my  love  for  mine  own — that  made 
me  fear.     Forgive  me,  I  pray  thee." 

The  Lawgiver  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder  but  did  not  answer  at  once.  The  growing 
clamor  about  them  had  reached  the  acme  of  insistence. 
The  nearest  people  pressed  through  the  tribal  lines  and, 
rushing  forward,  began  to  throw  themselves  on  their 
knees,  tumbling  in  circles  about  the  majestic  Hebrew. 
Others  kept  their  feet,  and  with  arms  and  clenched 
hands  above  their  heads,  shouted  vehemently.  Their 
cries  were  partly  in  Egyptian,  partly  in  their  own 
tongue,  but  the  cause  of  their  terror  and  the  burden 
of  their  supplications  were  the  same.  The  Egyptians 
were  upon  them!  Even  the  dumb  beasts  were  swept 
into  the  panic  and  the  illuminated  beach  shook  with 
sound. 

After  a  little  sad  contemplation  of  the  clamoring 
horde  about  him,  the  Lawgiver  drew  nearer  to  Ken- 
kenes  and  said  in  his  ear,  because  the  tumult  drowned 
his  voice: 

"The  Lord  will  fight  for  thee ;  thine  enemy  can  not 
flee  His  strong  hand.  Wait  upon  Him  and  behold 
His  triumph." 

Kenkenes  bowed  his  head  in  acquiescence. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THROUGH    THE    RED   SEA 

The  voices  of  the  storm  found  harmonious  tones  of 
different  pitch  and  swelled  in  glorious  accord  from  the 
faintest  breath  of  melody  to  an  almighty  blast  that 
stunned  the  senses  with  stupendous  harmony.  Then 
the  chord  seemed  to  melt  and  lose  itself  in  the  wild 
dissonances  of  the  hurricane. 

The  turmoil  of  Israel  began  to  subside,  growing 
fainter,  ceasing  among  the  ranks  nearest  the  sea,  fail- 
ing toward  the  rear,  dying  away  like  a  sigh  up  and 
down  the  long  encampment.  The  people  that  had  been 
on  their  knees  rose  slowly.  The  bleating  of  the  flocks 
quieted  into  stillness.  Commotion  ceased  and  Israel 
held  its  breath. 

The  Lawgiver  had  passed  from  among  them,  and 
those  that  followed  him  with  their  eyes  saw  that  he 
was  moving  toward  the  sea,  seemingly  at  the  very 
limit  of  the  outer  radiance  and  still  going  on.  First 
to  one  and  then  to  another,  it  became  apparent  that 
the  extent  of  the  illuminated  beach  was  widening. 
Hither  and  thither  over  the  multitude  the  intelligence 
ran,  in  whispers  or  by  glances.  Having  showed  his 
neighbor  each  looked  again.  Ripple-worn  sand,  shells, 
barnacle-covered  rocks,  slowly  came  within  the  pale 
of  the   radiance  and   Moses  moved  with   it.     Eight 

589 


590  THE   YOKE 

stalwart  Hebrews,  bearing  a  funeral  ark,  shrouded 
with  a  purple  pall,  fringed  with  gold,  emerged  from 
among  the  people  and,  taking  a  place  in  front  of  the 
Lawgiver,  walked  confidently  down  the  sand  toward 
the  east. 

The  radiance  progressed  step  by  step.  Wet  rocks 
entered  the  glow,  lines  of  sea-weed,  immense  drifts 
of  debris,  the  brink  of  a  ledge,  the  shadow  before  it, 
and  then  a  sandy  bottom. 

A  long  line  of  old  men,  two  abreast,  the  wind  mak- 
ing the  picture  awesome  as  it  tossed  their  beards  and 
gray  robes,  followed  the  Lawgiver.  After  these  sev- 
eral litters,  borne  by  young  men,  proceeded  in  imposing 
order. 

Except  for  the  raving  of  the  tempest  there  was  no 
sound  in  Israel. 

A  double  file  of  camels  with  sumptuous  housings 
moved  with  dignified  and  unhasty  tread  after  the 
litters.  By  this  time,  the  foremost  ranks  of  the  pro- 
cession were  some  distance  ahead,  the  limit  of  radiance 
just  in  advance,  and  lighting  with  special  tenderness 
the  funeral  ark.  Here  were  the  bones  of  that  noblest 
son  of  Jacob.  Having  brought  Israel  into  Egypt, 
Joseph  was  leading  it  forth  again. 

Pools,  lighted  by  the  ray,  glowed  like  sheets  of 
gold,  darkling  here  and  there  with  shadow ;  long  ledges 
of  rock,  bearded  with  deep-water  growth,  sparkled 
rarely  in  the  light ;  stretches  of  sodden  sand,  colored 
with  salts  of  the  waters,  and  littered  with  curious 
fish-life,  lay  between. 

Where  was  the  sea? 

After  the  camels  followed  a  score  of  mules,  little 
and  trim  in  contrast  to  the  tall  shaggy  beasts  ahead 


THROUGH    THE   RED    SEA  591 

of  them.  They  were  burden-bearing  animals,  precious 
among  Israel,  for  they  were  laden  with  the  records  of 
the  tribes,  much  treasure  in  jewels  and  fine  stuffs, 
incense,  writing  materials,  and  such  things  as  the 
people  would  need,  and  were  not  to  be  had  from 
among  them,  or  like  to  be  found  in  the  places  to  which 
they  might  come.  These  passed  and  their  drivers 
with  them. 

The  next  moment,  Kenkenes  was  caught  in  the 
center  of  a  rushing  wave  of  humanity.  He  fought  off 
the  consternation  that  threatened  to  seize  him  and 
tried  to  care  for  himself,  but  a  reed  on  the  breast  of  the 
Nile  at  flood  could  not  have  been  more  helpless.  Be- 
hind Israel  were  the  Egyptians,  ahead  of  it  miraculous 
escape ;  the  one  impulse  of  the  multitude  was  flight. 
That  any  remembered  his  mate  or  his  children,  his 
goods,  his  treasure  or  his  cattle,  was  a  marvel. 

The  foremost  ranks,  moving  in  directly  behind  the 
leaders,  had  adopted  their  pace.  Furthermore,  as  the 
advance-guard,  they  had  a  greater  sense  of  security, 
and  before  them  was  all  the  east  open  for  flight.  Not 
so  with  the  hindmost;  they  were  near  the  dreaded 
place  from  which  the  army  would  descend;  ahead  of 
them  was  a  deliberate  host ;  within  them,  soul-consum- 
ing fear  and  panic.  The  rear  rushed,  the  forward 
ranks  walked,  and  the  center  caught  between  was 
jammed  into  a  compact  mass. 

Neither  halt  nor  escape  was  possible.  Press  as  the 
hindmost  might  upon  those  forward,  the  pace  was 
slackened,  instead  of  quickened.  The  advance  grew 
slower  as  it  extended  back  through  the  ranks,  for  each 
succeeding  line  lost  a  modicum  in  the  length  of  the 
step,  till  at  the  rear  they  were  pushing  hard  and  barely 


592  THE   YOKE 

moving.  No  wonder  they  sobbed,  prayed,  panted, 
surged,  swayed  and  pressed.  How  they  reviled  the 
snail-like  leaders,  not  knowing  that  the  sturdy  pace 
lagged  in  the  body  of  the  multitude.  So  they  hasted 
and  progressed  only  inch  by  inch. 

After  the  first  moment  of  battle  against  the  human 
sea,  Kenkenes  recognized  the  futility  of  resistance  and 
suffered  himself  to  be  borne  along.  There  was  no 
turning  back  now,  had  he  been  so  disposed.  He  had 
left  behind  him  his  purposes,  unaccomplished. 

He  had  received  no  explicit  promise  from  Moses, 
and  if  he  had  given  ear  to  the  doubts  of  his  own  reason, 
he  might  have  been  sorely  afraid,  much  troubled  for 
Egypt  and  all  he  loved  therein.  But  he  went  with 
the  multitude  passively,  even  contentedly ;  he  did  not 
speculate  how  his  God  would  fight  for  him;  his  faith 
was  perfect. 

As  for  his  presence  with  Israel,  no  one  heeded  him. 
Sometimes  it  came  his  way  to  be  helpful ;  an  old  man 
lost  his  feet  and  becoming  panic-stricken  was  soothed 
only  when  the  young  Egyptian  put  a  strong  arm  about 
him  and  held  him  till  his  feet  touched  earth  again. 
Children  became  heavy  in  the  arms  of  parents  and  the 
little  Hebrews  had  no  fear  of  the  young  man  who 
carried  them,  a  while,  instead.  But  no  one  stopped  to 
take  notice  that  this  was  an  Egyptian,  totally  unlike 
those  among  the  "mixed  multitude"  that  had  come  to 
join  Israel;  nor  did  any  wonder  what  a  nobleman  of 
the  blood  of  the  oppressors  did  among  the  fleeing 
slaves.  Indeed,  if  the  host  had  any  thought  beyond 
the  impulse  of  self-preservation,  it  was  only  a  dim 
realization  that  they  were  walking  over  a  most  rocky, 


THROUGH   THE   RED    SEA  593 

oozy  and  untender  road  and  that  the  smell  of  the  sea 
was  very  strong  about  them. 

In  the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  having  become 
so  accustomed  to  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  sound  of 
the  moving  multitude,  Kenkenes  ceased  to  be  con- 
scious of  it.  Other  sounds,  which  hours  before  would 
have  failed  to  reach  his  ears,  became  distinct.  The 
crying  of  tired  children  reached  him,  and  he  detected 
even  snatches  of  talk  among  the  ranks  some  distance 
away  from  him.  Thus  a  clamor  of  noise,  secondary 
in  force,  grew  about  him.  Above  it  all,  at  last,  came 
a  sound  that  would  have  made  him  halt  if  he  could. 

He  tried  to  think  it  one  of  the  many  voices  of  the 
storm,  but  the  second  time  he  heard  it,  he  knew  what 
it  was. 

Far  to  the  rear,  a  trumpet-call,  beautiful  and  spirited, 
rose  upon  the  air. 

The  Egyptian  army  was  in  pursuit! 

Israel  heard  it,  and  crying  aloud  in  its  terror,  swept 
forward,  as  if  the  trumpet-call  had  commanded  it. 
Kenkenes  felt  a  quickening  of  pulse,  a  momentary 
tremor,  but  no  more. 

He  became  conscious  finally  of  a  warmth  penetrating 
his  sandals.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  struggling 
up  a  slope  for  a  long  time,  and  now  he  realized  that  he 
was  again  on  the  dry,  sun-heated  sand  of  the  desert. 
The  multitude  ceased  to  crowd,  the  pressure  about 
him  diminished ;  the  ranks  began  to  widen  to  his  left 
and  right;  the  leaders  halted  altogether,  and  though 
there  was  still  much  movement  among  the  body  and 
rear  of  the  host,  people  turned  to  look  upon  their 
neighbors. 

The  overhanging  cloud  parted  from  the  eastern 
horizon,  leaving  a  strip  of  sky  softly  lighted  by  the 


594  THE   YOKE 

coming  morn.  Without  any  preliminary  diminution 
of  its  force,  the  wind  failed  entirely. 

Kenkenes,  with  many  others,  looked  back  and  saw 
that  the  pillar,  illuminated,  but  no  longer  illuminating, 
had  halted  above  a  solitary  figure  of  seemingly  super- 
human stature  in  the  morning  gray,  standing  on  an 
eminence,  overlooking  the  sea. 

The  arm  was  uplifted  and  outstretched,  tense  and 
motionless. 

From  his  superior  height,  Kenkenes  saw,  over  the 
heads  of  the  immense  concourse,  two  lines  of  foam 
riding  like  the  wind  across  the  sea-bed  toward  each 
other.  Between  them  was  a  great  body  of  plunging 
horses ;  overhead  a  forest  of  fluttering  banners ;  and 
faint  from  the  commotion  came  shouts  and  wild  notes 
of  trumpets.  Then  the  two  lines  of  foam  smote 
against  each  other  with  a  fearful  rush  and  a  muffled 
report  like  the  cannonading  of  surf.  A  mountain  of 
water  pitched  high  into  the  air  and  collapsed  in  a  vast 
froth,  which  spread  abroad  over  the  churning,  wallow- 
ing sea.  The  falling  wind  dashed  a  sheet  of  spray 
over  the  silent  host  on  the  eastern  shore.  Sharp 
against  the  white  foam,  dark  objects  and  masses  sank, 
arose,  and  sank  again. 

At  that  moment  the  sun  thrust  a  broad  shaft  of  light 
between  the  horizon  and  the  lifted  cloud. 

It  discovered  only  the  sea,  raving  and  stormy,  and 
afar  to  the  west  a  misty,  vacant,  lifeless  line  of  shore. 

"And  the  waters  returned  and  covered  the  chariots 
and  the  horsemen,  and  all  the  host  of  the  Pharaoh 
that  came  into  the  sea  after  them ;  there  remained  not 
so  much  as  one  of  them." 

So  perished  Har-hat  and  the  flower  of  the  Egyptian 
army. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

WHOM    THE   LADY    MIRIAM    SENT 

Of  the  ensuing  day,  Kenkenes  had  no  very  distinct 
memory.  Very  fair  and  beautiful,  one  recollection 
remained — a  recollection  of  another  figure  on  the  emi- 
nence, and  by  the  flash  of  white  upthrown  arms,  and 
the  blowing  of  a  somber  cloud  of  hair,  this  time  it  was 
a  woman.  How  the  morning  sun  glittered  on  the 
shaken  timbrel ;  how  the  spotless  draperies  went  wild 
in  the  wind ;  how  the  group  of  lissome  maidens  on  the 
sand  below  wound  in  and  out,  in  a  mazy  dance ;  how 
the  multitude  was  swept  into  transports  of  beatifica- 
tion ;  how  the  men  became  prophets  and  the  women, 
psalmists;  how  the  vast  wilderness  reverberated  with 
a  great  chant  of  exultation — all  this  he  remembered  as 
a  sublime  dream. 

Thereafter,  Israel  moved  inland  and  down  the  coast 
some  distance,  for  the  sea  began  to  surrender  its  dead. 
Of  the  stir  and  method  of  the  removal  he  did  not 
remember,  but  of  the  encampment  and  the  reassem- 
bling of  the  tribes  he  recalled  several  incidents.  He  was 
numb  and  sleep-heavy  beyond  words,  and  while  lean- 
ing, in  a  semi-conscious  condition,  against  some  house- 
hold goods,  he  was  discovered  by  the  owner,  who  was 
none  other  than  the  friendly  son  of  Judah,  his  assistant 
in  his  search  for  Rachel  in  Pa-Ramesu.     The  man's 

595 


596  THE  YOKE 

honest  joy  over  Kenkenes'  safety  was  good  to  look 
upon.  A  few  words  of  explanation  concerning  his 
very  apparent  exhaustion  were  fruitful  of  some  com- 
fort to  the  young  Egyptian.  The  Hebrew's  wife  had 
a  motherly  heart,  and  the  weary  face  of  the  comely 
youth  touched  it.  Therefore,  she  brought  him  bread 
and  wine  and  made  him  a  place  in  the  shadow  of  her 
tent-furnishings  where  he  might  sleep  till  what  time 
the  family  shelter  could  be  raised. 

But  Kenkenes  did  not  rest.  He  fell  asleep  only  to 
dream  of  Rachel,  and  awoke  asking  himself  why  he 
had  abandoned  the  search  for  her;  why  he  had  left 
Egypt  without  her ;  and  why  he  had  not  gone  to  Moses 
at  once  for  aid  to  further  his  seeking  through  Israel. 

He  arose  from  his  place,  sick  with  all  the  old  sus- 
pense and  heartache.  He  would  begin  now  to  look  for 
Rachel  and  cease  not  till  he  found  her  or  died  of  his 
weariness. 

He  stepped  forth  directly  in  the  path  of  a  party  of 
women.  He  moved  aside  to  give  them  room,  and 
glancing  at  the  foremost,  recognized  her  immediately 
as  the  Lady  Miriam.     She  stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

"Thou  art  he  who  found  Jehovah  in  Egypt?"  she 
asked. 

He  bowed  in  assent. 

"Thy  faith  is  entire,"  she  commented.  "Also,  have 
I  cause  to  remember  thee.  Thou  didst  display  a  cour- 
teous spirit  in  Tape,  a  year  agone." 

"Thou  hast  repaid  me  with  the  flattery  of  thy  re- 
membrance, Lady  Miriam,"  he  replied. 

"Thy  speech  publishes  thee  as  noble,"  she  went  on 
calmly.     "Thy  name  ?" 

"Kenkenes,  the  son  of  Mentu,  the  murket." 


WHOM    THE    LADY   MIRIAM    SENT      597 

Her  lips  parted  suddenly  and  her  eyes  gleamed. 

"See  yonder  tent,"  she  said,  indicating  a  pavilion 
of  new  cloth,  reared  not  far  from  the  quarters  of 
Moses.     "Repair  thither  and  await  till  I  send  to  thee." 

Without  pausing  for  an  answer  she  swept  on,  her 
maidens  following,  damp  of  brow  and  bright  of  eye. 

Kenkenes  turned  toward  the  tent.  A  Hebrew  at 
the  entrance  lifted  the  side  without  a  word  and  signed 
him  to  enter. 

The  interior  was  not  yet  fully  furnished.  A  rug 
of  Memphian  weave  covered  the  sand  and  a  taboret 
was  placed  in  the  ceriter. 

Presently  the  serving-man  entered  with  a  laver  of 
sea-water,  and  an  Israelitish  robe,  fringed  and  bound 
at  the  selvage  with  blue.  With  the  despatch  and  adroit- 
ness of  one  long  used  to  personal  service,  he  attended 
the  young  Egyptian,  and  dressed  him  in  the  stately 
garments  of  his  own  people.  When  his  service  was 
complete,  he  took  up  the  bowl  and  cast-off  dress  and 
went  forth. 

After  a  time  he  brought  in  a  couch-like  divan, 
dressed  it  with  fringed  linen  and  strewed  it  with 
cushions;  next,  he  suspended  a  cluster  of  lamps  from 
the  center-pole;  set  a  tiny  inlaid  table  close  to  the 
couch,  and  on  the  table  put  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a 
beaker ;  and  brought  last  a  heap  of  fine  rugs  and  cover- 
ings which  he  laid  in  one  corner.  The  tent  was 
furnished  and  nobly.  The  man  bowed  before  Ken- 
kenes, awaiting  the  Egyptian's  further  pleasure,  but 
at  a  sign  from  the  young  man,  bowed  again  and  retired. 

Kenkenes  went  over  to  the  divan  and  sat  down  on 
it,  to  wait. 

Presently  some  one  entered  behind  him.     He  arose 


598  THE   YOKE 

and  turned.  Before  him  was  the  most  welcome  picture 
his  bereaved  eyes  could  have  looked  upon.  His  visitor 
was  all  in  shimmering  white  and  wore  no  ornament 
except  a  collar  of  golden  rings.  What  need  of  further 
adornment  when  she  was  mantled  and  crowned  with 
a  glory  of  golden  hair?  Except  that  the  face  was 
marble  white  and  the  eyes  dark  and  large  with  quiet 
sorrow,  it  was  the  same  divinely  beautiful  Rachel ! 

It  may  have  been  that  he  was  beyond  the  recupera- 
tive influence  of  sudden  joy,  or  that  the  unexpected 
restoration  of  his  love  might  have  swept  away  his 
forces  had  he  been  in  full  strength;  but  whatever  the 
cause,  Kenkenes  sank  to  his  knees  and  forward  into 
the  eager  arms  flung  out  to  receive  him.  Her  cry  of 
great  joy  seemed  to  come  to  him  from  afar. 

"Kenkenes  !     O  my  love !     Not  dead ;  not  dead !" 

Then  it  was  he  learned  that  she  had  despaired, 
grieving  beyond  any  comfort,  for  she  had  counted  him 
with  the  first-born  of  Egypt.  And  even  though 
thoughts  came  to  him  but  slowly  now,  he  said  to 
himself : 

"Praise  God,  I  did  not  think  of  it,  or  I  had  gone  dis- 
tracted with  her  trouble." 

How  rich  woman-love  is  in  solicitude  and  minister- 
ing resource!  It  made  Rachel  strong  enough  to  raise 
him,  and  having  led  him  back  to  the  divan,  gently  to 
lay  him  down  among  the  cushions.  The  wine  was  at 
her  hand,  and  she  filled  the  beaker,  and  held  it  while 
he  drank.  Then  she  kissed  him  and,  hiding  her  face 
in  his  breast,  wept  soft  tears.  And  though  he  held  her 
very  close  and  had  in  his  heart  a  great  longing  to 
soothe  her,  he  could  not  speak. 

After  a  little  she  spoke. 


WHOM    THE    LADY   MIRIAM    SENT      599 

"I  had  not  dreamed  that  there  was  such  artifice  in 
Miriam.  She  told  me  of  a  nobleman  that  had  served 
God  and  Israel,  and  was  in  need  of  comfort  in  his  tent. 
But  she  bridled  her  tongue  and  governed  her  expres- 
sion so  cunningly,  that  I  did  not  dream  the  hero  was 
mine — mine !" 

Then  on  a  sudden  she  disengaged  herself  from  his 
arms  and  gaining  her  feet,  cried  out  with  her  hands 
over  her  blushing  face: 

"And  now,  I  know  why  she  and  Hur — O  I  know 
why  they  came  with  me,  and  brought  me  to  the  tent !" 

"Nay,  now;  may  I  not  guess,  also?"  Kenkenes 
laughed,  though  a  little  puzzled  over  her  evident  con- 
fusion. "They  had  a  mind  to  peep  and  spy  upon  our 
love-making.  Perchance  they  are  without  this  instant ; 
come  hither  and  let  us  not  disappoint  them." 

She  dropped  her  hands  and  looked  at  him  with  flam- 
ing cheeks  and  smiling  eyes.  There  was  more  in  her 
look  than  he  could  fathom,  but  he  did  not  puzzle  longer 
when  she  came  back  to  her  place  and  hid  her  face 
away  from  him. 

It  is  the  love  of  riper  years,  that  makes  the  lips  of 
lovers  silent.  But  Kenkenes  and  Rachel  were  very 
young  and  wholly  demonstrative,  and  they  had  need 
of  many  words  to  supplement  the  testimony  of  caresses. 
They  had  much  to  tell  and  they  left  no  avowal  un- 
made. 

But  at  last  Kenkenes'  voice  wearied  and  Rachel 
noted  •  it.  So  in  her  pretty  authoritative  way,  she 
stroked  his  lashes  down  and  bade  him  sleep.  When 
she  removed  her  hands  and  clasped  them  above  his 
head,  his  eyes  did  not  open. 

As  she  bent  over  him,  she  noted  with  a  great  sweep 


600  THE   YOKE 

of  tenderness  how  young  he  was.  In  all  her  relations 
with  Kenkenes  she  had  seen  him  in  the  manliest  roles. 
She  had  depended  upon  him,  looked  up  to  him,  and  had 
felt  secure  in  his  protection.  Now  she  contemplated 
a  face  from  which  content  had  erased  the  mature  lines 
that  care  had  drawn.  The  curve  of  his  lips,  the  length 
of  the  drooping  lashes,  the  roundness  of  cheek,  and 
the  softness  of  throat,  were  youthful — boyish.  With 
this  enlightenment  her  love  for  him  experienced  a 
transfiguration.  She  seemed  to  grow  older  than  he ;  the 
maternal  element  leaped  to  the  fore ;  their  positions 
were  instantly  reversed.    It  was  hers  to  care  for  him ! 

After  a  long  time,  his  arms  relaxed  about  her,  and 
she  undid  them  and  disposed  them  in  easy  position. 
Lifting  the  fillet  from  his  brow,  she  smoothed  out  the 
mark  it  had  made  and  settled  the  cushions  more  softly 
under  his  head.  From  the  heap  of  coverings  she  took 
the  amplest  and  the  softest  and  spread  it  over  him. 
Remembering  that  the  wind  from  the  sea  blew  shrewdly 
at  night,  she  laid  rugs  about  the  edges  of  the  tent 
which  fluttered  in  the  breeze  and  returned  again  to 
his  side. 

After  another  space  of  rapt  contemplation  of  his 
unconscious  face  she  went  forth  and  drew  the  entrance 
together  behind  her. 

The  next  daybreak  was  the  happiest  Israel  had 
known  in  a  hundred  years.  Egypt,  overthrown  and 
humbled,  was  behind  them;  God  was  with  them,  and 
Canaan  was  just  ahead — perhaps  only  beyond  the  hori- 
zon. Few  but  would  have  laughed  at  the  glory  of 
Babylonia,  Assyria  and  the  great  powers. 

For  had  it  not  been  promised  that  out  of  Israel 
nations  should  be  made,  and  kings  should  come? 


WHOM    THE   LADY    MIRIAM    SENT      6oi 

The  march  was  to  be  taken  up  immediately,  and  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning  the  host  was  ready  to  advance. 

Rachel  had  not  permitted  herself  to  be  seen  until  the 
tent  of  Miriam  was  struck.  She  knew  that  Kenkenes 
was  without,  waiting  for  her,  and  with  the  delightful 
inconsistency  of  maidenhood,  she  dreaded  while  she 
longed  to  meet  her  beloved  again.  And  when  the 
moment  arrived  she  slipped  across  the  open  space  to 
the  camel  that  was  to  bear  her  into  Canaan,  but  in  the 
shadow  of  the  faithful  creature,  Kenkenes  overtook 
her  and  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

"A  blessing  on  thee,  my  sweet!  And  I  am  blest 
in  having  thee  once  more." 

"Didst  thou  sleep  well?"  she  asked. 

"Most  industriously,  since  I  made  up  what  I  lost 
and  overlapped  a  little.  And  yet  I  was  abroad  at  dawn 
prowling  about  thy  tent  lest  thou  shouldst  flee  me 
once  again.  Rachel — "  his  voice  sobered  and  his  face 
grew  serious — "Rachel,  wilt  thou  wed  me  this  day  ?" 

"If  it  were  only  'aye'  or  'nay'  to  be  said,  I  should 
have  said  it  long  ago,"  she  answered  with  averted  eyes, 
"but  there  are  many  things  that  thou  shouldst  know, 
Kenkenes,  before  thou  demandest  the  answer  from 
me. 

"Name  them,  Rachel,"  he  said  submissively;  "but 
let  me  say  this  first.  Mine  eyes  are  not  mystic  but 
most  truthfully  can  I  tell  this  moment,  which  of  us 
twain  will  rule  over  my  tent." 

"And  thou  art  ready  for  the  tent  and  shepherd  life 
of  Israel?"  she  asked  gravely,  but  before  he  could 
answer  she  went  on. 

"Hear  me  first.  So  tender  hast  thou  been  of  me; 
so  much  hast  thou  sacrificed  for  my  sake  that  it  were 


602  THE   YOKE 

unkind  to  bind  thee  to  me  in  the  life-long  sacrifice  and 
life-long  hardships  that  I  may  know.  Thine  enemy 
and  mine  is  dead,  and  Egypt  rid  of  him.  There  is 
much  in  Egypt  to  prosper  thee ;  there,  thy  state  is  high ; 
there,  thou  hast  opportunity  and  wealth.  Israel  can 
offer  thee  God  and  me.  Even  the  faith  thou  couldst 
keep  in  Egypt,  so  thou  wert  watchful.  And  further, 
thou  art  the  murket's  son,  and  building  takes  the  place 
of  carving  for  thee,  now.  But,  here,  O  Kenkenes,  thou 
must  lay  thy  chisel  down  for  ever,  for  the  faith  of  the 
multitude,  so  newly  weaned  from  idolatry,  is  too  feeble 
to  be  tried  with  the  sight  of  images." 

Kenkenes  heard  her  with  a  passive  countenance. 
She  gave  him  news,  indeed — facts  of  a  troublous 
nature,  but  he  held  his  peace  and  let  her  proceed. 

"And  this,  yet  further.  Once  in  that  time  when  I 
was  a  slave  and  thou  my  master  and  loved  me  not — " 

His  dark  eyes  reproached  her. 

"Didst  love  me,  then,  of  a  truth  ?  But  it  matters  not 
— and  yet" — coming  closer  to  him,  "it  matters  much ! 
In  that  time  ere  thou  hadst  told  me  so,  we  talked  of 
Canaan,  thou  and  I.  I  boasted  of  it,  being  but  newly 
filled  with  it  and  freshly  come  from  Caleb  who  taught 
us.  Then,  Israel  was  enslaved  and  not  yet  so  vastly 
helped  by  Jehovah.  But  alas!  I  have  seen  Israel 
freed,  and  attended  by  its  God,  and  by  the  tokens  of 
its  conduct,  Israel  is  far,  far  from  Canaan.  I  am  of 
Israel  and  whosoever  weds  with  me,  will  be  of  Israel 
likewise.  It  may  not  be  that  I  shall  escape  my  peo- 
ple's sorrows.  Shall  I  bring  them  upon  thy  head,  also, 
my  Kenkenes?" 

After  a  little  he  answered,  sighing. 


WHOM    THE   LADY   MIRIAM    SENT      603 

"Thou  dost  not  love  me,  Rachel." 

"Kenkenes !" 

"Aye,  I  have  said.  Thou  wouldst  send  me  away 
from  thee,  back  into  Egypt." 

"O,  seest  thou  not?  I  would  have  thee  know  thy 
heart ;  I  would  not  have  thee  choose  blindly ;  I  do  but 
sacrifice  myself,"  she  cried,  panic-stricken. 

"And  yet,  thou  wouldst  deny  me  that  same  delight 
of  sacrifice.     Can  I  not  surrender  for  thee  as  well  ?" 

She  drooped  her  head  and  did  not  answer. 

"Ah!  thou  speakest  of  the  benefits  of  Egypt,"  he 
continued.  "What  were  Egypt  without  thee,  save  a 
great  darkness  haunted  and  vacant?  Besides,  there 
is  no  Egypt  beyond  this  sea.  She  hath  risen  and 
crossed  with  Israel — all  her  beauty  and  her  glory  and 
her  beneficence.  For  thou  art  Egypt  and  shalt  be  to 
me  all  that  I  loved  in  Egypt." 

He  took  her  hands. 

"Why  may  I  not  as  justly  doubt  thy  knowledge  of 
thy  heart  ?"  he  asked  softly. 

Seeing  that  she  surrendered,  he  persisted  no  further 
in  his  protest. 

"When  wilt  thou  wed  me,  my  love  ?" 

She  drew  back  from  him  a  little,  though  she  will- 
ingly left  her  hands  where  they  were,  and  Kenkenes, 
noting  the  flush  on  her  cheeks,  the  pretty  gravity  of 
her  brow,  and  the  well-known  air  she  assumed  when 
she  discoursed,  smiled  and  said  fondly  to  himself : 

"By  the  signs,  I  am  to  be  taught  something  more." 

"Thou  knowest,  my  Kenkenes,"  she  began,  "the 
Hebrews  are  married  simply.  There  is  feasting  and 
dancing  and  the  bride  is  taken  to  the  house  of  her 


604  THE   YOKE 

father-in-law.  Thereafter  there  is  still  much  feasting, 
but  the  wedding  ceremony  is  done  at  the  home-bring- 
ing of  the  bride." 

"I  hear,"  said  Kenkenes  when  she  paused. 

"I  am  without  kindred ;  thou  art  here  without  house. 
There  can  be  no  wedding  feast  for  us,  nor  dancing  nor 
singing,  for  Israel  is  on  the  march." 

"Of  a  truth,"  Kenkenes  assented. 

"So  there  is  only  the  essential  portion  of  the  cere- 
mony left  to  us — the  home-bringing  of  the  bride." 

"It  is  enough,"  said  Kenkenes. 

"Hur  and  Miriam  brought  me  to  thy  tent  last  night." 

With  his  face  lighting,  Kenkenes  drew  her  to  him 
and  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"So  if  thou  wilt,  we  shall  say — that — from — that 
moment — " 

Her  voice  grew  lower,  her  words  more  unready  and 
failed  altogether. 

"From  that  moment,"  he  said  eagerly,  reassuring 
her.     "From  that  moment — " 

"From  that  moment,  I  have  been  thy  wife!" 


CHAPTER  XLVI 


THE   PROMISED   LAND 


One  sunset,  shortly  after  his  marriage,  word  came  to 
the  tent  of  Kenkenes  that  an  Amalekite  chieftain  on 
his  way  to  Egypt  had  paused  for  the  night  just  without 
the  encampment  of  Israel. 

"Here  may  be  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  thy 
father,"  Rachel  suggested.  The  prospect  of  talking 
once  again  to  those  he  had  left  behind  was  one  too  full 
of  pleasure  for  the  young  Egyptian  to  receive  calmly. 
Hurriedly  he  despatched  one  of  his  serving  men  to  the 
Amalekite  to  bid  him  await  a  message.  But  Rachel 
called  the  messenger  back. 

"Tell  the  Amalekite  that  thou  comest  from  an  Egyp- 
tian noble.  For  such  thy  master  is,  and  this  chieftain 
is  more  willing  to  take  command  from  Egypt  than  from 
Israel." 

The  servant  in  his  enthusiasm  and  the  importance 
of  his  mission  told  the  Amalekite  that  he  came  from  a 
prince  of  Egypt. 

The  chieftain  was  a  youth  who  had  just  succeeded 
his  father  over  his  people  and  was  on  his  way  to  Mem- 
phis bearing  tribute  to  Meneptah.  To  this  tributary 
nation  Egypt  was  remote,  splendid  and  full  of  glamour. 
The  name  was  synonymous  of  the  world  and  all  the 
glories  thereof,  and  particularly  had  it  appealed  to  the 
active  imagination  of  this  youth.    He  had  seen  many 

605 


606  THE   YOKE 

Egyptians,  but  they  were  naked  prisoners  laboring  in 
the  mines  of  Sinai,  or  overseers  or  scribes  or  the  an- 
cient exile  who  was  governor  of  the  province, — and 
surely  these  were  not  representative  of  the  land. 

Now  he  was  to  get  a  glance  at  real  Egypt. 

In  the  early  hours  of  the  dawn  a  follower  came  to  his 
pallet  and  told  him  in  awed  tones  that  the  prince  was 
without.  Tremulous  with  pleasurable  trepidation,  he 
went  out  into  the  misty  daybreak  twilight  of  the  open. 
And  there  he  met  an  imperial  stranger  who  towered 
over  him  as  a  palm  over  a  shrub.  At  a  single  glance  the 
Amalekite  saw  that  there  was  a  circlet  of  gold  about  the 
brow,  that  the  face  was  fine  and  that  the  garments 
swept  the  sands.  All  this  was  significant,  but  when  the 
stranger  delivered  him  two  rolls,  one  addressed  to  the 
chief  of  the  royal  scribes  of  the  Pharaoh,  the  other  to 
the  royal  murket,  and  paid  him  with  a  jewel,  the 
Amalekite,  convinced  and  satisfied,  prostrated  himself. 

But  we  may  not  know  what  the  youth  thought  when 
he  found  that  there  were  few  in  all  Egypt  like  this 
princely  stranger. 

After  these  writings  came,  with  all  fidelity,  to  the 
hands  of  those  who  loved  him  in  Egypt,  silence  fell  be- 
tween them  and  Kenkenes. 

Meneptah  erected  no  more  monuments  after  the 
eighth  year  of  his  reign,  for  in  that  year  Mentu,  the 
murket,  died.  None  could  fill  his  place,  since  to  his 
name  was  attached  the  title  "the  Incomparable,"  as  be- 
fitted the  artist  of  that  great  Pharaoh,  likewise  titled, 
who  had  so  loved  him  and  his  genius.  Meneptah,  in 
memory  of  Mentu  and  his  artist  son  who  had  served  his 
king  so  well,  set  up  no  sculptor  nor  any  murket  in  his 
place.    It  was  the  one  graceful  act  in  the  life  of  the 


THE    PROMISED    LAND  607 

feeble  king,  the  one  resolution  to  which  he  held  most 
tenaciously. 

Though  Mentu's  union  with  Senci  was  short,  it  was 
most  happy,  save  perhaps  for  the  absence  of  Kenkenes. 
But  after  the  letter  came  from  the  well-beloved  son 
there  was  more  cheer  in  the  heart  of  the  father.  Ken- 
kenes was  not  dead,  only  absent,  as  he  would  have  been 
had  he  lived  in  Tanis  or  Thebes.  Furthermore,  the 
young  man  had  spoken  glowingly  and  at  length  on  the 
future  of  Israel  and  the  Promised  Land,  and  Mentu 
told  himself  that  he  might  visit  Kenkenes  one  day  in 
that  new  country. 

Since  there  were  no  children  in  their  house,  Senci 
and  the  murket  spoiled  Anubis,  and  in  the  eyes  of  his 
devoted  master  the  ape  had  earned  his  soft  life.  Short- 
ly after  the  departure  of  Kenkenes  Mentu  discovered 
the  ape  burying  something  in  the  sand  of  the  courtyard 
flower-beds.  In  spite  of  the  favorite's  vigorous  pro- 
tests Mentu  overturned  the  tiny  heap  of  earth  and  dis- 
covered therein  the  lapis-lazuli  signet.  There  was  but 
one  explanation  of  the  ape's  possession  of  the  gem. 
He  had  torn  the  scarab  from  about  the  neck  of  Unas 
when  he  flew  in  his  face,  the  moment  the  light  went  out. 
After  his  nature,  he  kept  the  jewel  because  it  was 
bright. 

All  these  things — the  discovery  of  the  signet  in  the 
tomb,  the  safety  of  Kenkenes  when  all  the  other  first- 
born had  died,  and  the  testimony  of  the  miracles  to  the 
power  of  Israel's  God — made  the  good  murket  think 
deeply.  Indeed,  all  Egypt  thought  deeply  after  the 
Exodus  of  Israel,  and  to  such  extremes  was  this  sober 
thinking  carried  that  through  very  fear  many  added 
the   name   of    the    Hebrews'    God    to   the    Pantheon. 


608  THE   YOKE 

Mentu  did  not  go  so  far,  because  he  saw  the  inconsist- 
ency in  such  procedure,  but  he  shook  his  head  and  pon- 
dered and  was  not  wholly  satisfied  with  many  things  in 
the  Osirian  creed. 

Of  the  love  of  Hotep  and  Masanath  something  yet 
remains  to  be  told.  It  was  common  to  examine  the  en- 
tire family  of  a  traitor  as  to  their  complicity  in  his  mis- 
deeds, and  the  option  lay  with  the  Pharaoh  whether  or 
not  they  should  bear  some  of  his  punishment.  Har-hat 
was  dead,  the  army  destroyed  at  his  hands.  When  the 
news  of  the  disaster  reached  Tanis  Meneptah's  anger 
and  grief  knew  no  bounds. 

After  Rameses  had  been  interred  at  Thebes  beside 
his  fathers,  and  the  court  had  returned  to  Memphis, 
the  king  summoned  Masanath,  the  sole  representative 
of  the  family  of  Har-hat,  to  give  reason  why  she  should 
not  be  accused  of  complicity  in  the  treason  of  her 
father. 

Meneptah  had  taken  counsel  with  none  on  this  step. 
Perhaps  he  had  an  inkling  that  it  would  be  unpopular ; 
perhaps  he  thought  he  was  but  fulfilling  the  law.  Ho- 
tep was  at  On  comforting  his  family,  who  mourned 
over  Bettis,  and  most  of  the  other  ministers  were  scat- 
tered over  Egypt  lamenting  their  own  dead,  and  few 
expected  the  ungallant  act  of  the  king. 

But  one  day,  when  all  the  court  had  reassembled, 
Masanath  came  into  the  great  council  chamber.  Alone 
and  dressed  in  mourning,  she  seemed  so  little  and  de- 
fenseless that  Meneptah  stirred  uncomfortably  in  his 
throne.  Slowly  she  approached  the  dais  and  fell  on 
her  knees  before  the  king.  The  great  gathering  of 
courtiers  held  its  breath,  wondering  and  pitying. 

Such  was  the  scene  upon  which  Hotep  came  all  un- 


THE    PROMISED   LAND  609 

knowing.  At  a  glance  he  understood  the  situation.  It 
was  too  much  for  his  well-bridled  spirit.  With  a  cry, 
full  of  horror,  indignation  and  compassion,  he  dropped 
his  writing-case  and  scroll,  and,  rushing  forward,  flung 
himself  on  his  knees  beside  her,  one  arm  about  her,  the 
other  extended  in  supplication  to  the  Pharaoh. 

Meneptah,  who,  from  the  moment  of  Masanath's  en- 
trance into  the  council  chamber,  had  begun  to  repent 
his  ill-advised  act,  was  glad  to  be  won  over.  At  the  end 
of  Hotep's  impassioned  story  he  came  down  from  the 
dais,  and  raising  Masanath,  kissed  her  and  put  her  into 
the  young  man's  arms.  Supplementing  his  pardon  with 
command,  he  ordered  his  scribe  to  marry  the  sad  little 
orphan  at  once  and  take  her  away  from  the  scene  of 
her  sorrows  till  Isis  restored  her  in  spirits  again. 

The  alacrity  with  which  this  royal  command  was 
obeyed  proved  how  acceptable  it  was  to  the  lovers. 
By  the  next  sunset  they  were  going  by  a  slow  and 
sumptuous  boat  down  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Nile 
toward  the  sea,  but  they  had  no  care  whether  or  not 
they  ever  reached  their  destination. 

After  some  months  spent  on  the  coast,  Masanath 
grew  stronger  and  began  to  live  with  much  apprecia- 
tion of  the  joys  of  existence.  On  their  return  to  Mem- 
phis Hotep  was  made  fan-bearer  in  Har-hat's  place, 
and  for  the  remaining  fourteen  years  of  Meneptah's 
reign  practically  ruled  over  Egypt. 

Vastly  different,  however,  was  his  favoritism  from 
the  favoritism  of  Har-hat.  During  the  wise  adminis- 
tration of  the  young  adviser  Egypt  recovered  some- 
thing of  her  former  glory,  lost  in  the  dreadful  plague- 
ridden  days  preceding  the  Exodus.  The  army  was  re- 
organized first,  for  Ta-user's  party  began  to  make  dem- 


610  THE   YOKE 

onstrations  the  hour  that  the  news  of  the  Red  Sea  dis- 
aster reached  the  Hak-heb.  All  public  building  and  na- 
tional extravagance  were  halted,  and  the  surplus  treas- 
ure was  expended  in  restocking  the  fields  and  grana- 
ries and  restoring  commerce.  Within  five  years  after 
the  Exodus  the  great  check  Egypt  had  met  in  her  nine- 
teenth dynasty  was  not  greatly  apparent. 

So  the  land  recovered  from  the  plagues,  but  its  ruler 
never.  The  death  of  Rameses  lay  like  a  heavy  sin  and 
torturing  remorse  on  his  conscience.  He  wept  till  the 
feeble  eyes  lost  their  sight,  but  not  their  susceptibility 
to  tears.  At  last,  succumbing  to  melancholia,  he  be- 
came a  child,  for  whom  Hotep  reigned  and  for  whom 
the  queen  cared  with  touching  devotion. 

The  story  of  Seti  is  history.  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  his  rough  usage  at  the  hands  of  Ta-user  awakened 
him,  but  it  was  long  before  he  found  courage  to  return 
to  Io,  the  sweetheart  of  his  childhood.  Yet,  when  he 
did,  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  she  wept  over  him 
and  took  him  back  without  a  word  of  reproach.  So  the 
fair-faced  sister  of  Hotep  came  to  be  queen  over  Egypt 
and  took  another  title  with  Nefer-ari  as  prefix,  and  the 
quaint  Danaid  name,  Io,  was  lost  to  all  lips  but  Seti's 
and  Hotep's. 

After  Seti  came  to  the  throne  he  continued  Hotep  in 
the  advisership  and  prepared  to  reign  happily.  But  in 
a  little  time  the  Thebaid,  long  disaffected,  seceded  from 
the  federation  of  Egypt  and  crowned  Amon-meses 
king  of  Thebes.  Seti  gathered  his  army,  marched 
against  the  rebellious  district,  put  Amon-meses  to  the 
sword  and  reduced  the  Thebaid  to  submission.  Then 
he  returned  to  Memphis  for  another  space  of  pros- 
perity. 


THE    PROMISED   LAND  611 

At  the  end  of  a  year  Ta-user  and  Siptah,  after  much 
browbeating  of  the  Hak-heb,  raised  funds  sufficient  to 
purchase  mercenaries.  Then,  with  Ta-user  at  the  head 
in  barbaric  splendor,  they  descended  on  Memphis. 

The  course  Seti  pursued  has  puzzled  historians.  He 
gathered  up  his  family,  his  court,  his  treasure,  and 
without  so  much  as  lifting  a  spear,  fled  into  Ethiopia. 
After  some  time  Ta-user  sent  to  him  and  conferred 
upon  him  the  title  of  the  Prince  of  Cush. 

To  the  friends  of  the  young  Pharaoh  it  was  patent 
that  he  feared  to  meet  Ta-user.  Having  succumbed 
once  to  her  influence,  to  his  undoing  and  the  misery  of 
his  beloved  Io,  he  dared  not  come  under  the  all-com- 
pelling eyes  of  the  sorceress  again.  So  he  surrendered 
his  crown  and  his  country  for  his  soul's  sake. 

But  fifty  years  after,  Seti's  son,  the  formidable  Set- 
Nekt,  returned  into  Egypt  and  restored  the  Rameside 
house  on  a  basis  so  solid  that  another  glorious  dynasty 
arose  thereon,  second  only  in  brilliance  to  that  which 
had  gone  out  in  the  anarchy  of  Siptah  and  Ta-user's 
reign.  This  done,  he  wreaked  personal  vengeance  upon 
the  usurpers  of  his  father's  throne.  He  broke  open 
the  tomb  of  Siptah  and  Ta-user,  threw  out  their  bodies 
to  the  jackals,  obliterated  the  inscriptions,  enlarged  the 
crypt,  put  his  own  and  his  father's  history  on  the  walls 
and  used  it  for  his  mausoleum  when  he  died. 

And  this  was  the  deadliest  retaliation  he  could  in- 
flict in  his  father's  name. 

Much  of  this  Kenkenes  learned  from  the  lips  of 
Egyptian  merchants  whom  he  met  in  Canaan,  forty 
years  after  the  Exodus. 

Kenkenes  was  a  proselyte  who  had  found  his  God 
for  himself.    He  believed  as  he  drew  his  breath  and  as 


6i2  THE   YOKE 

his  heart  beat,  involuntarily  and  without  any  lapse. 
Never  could  a  son  of  Israel  have  surrendered  himself 
more  eagerly  to  the  law.  Its  good  and  its  purposes 
were  ever  before  his  eyes,  and  his  footsteps  led  in  the 
paths  that  it  lighted.  Though  he  saw  not  the  Lord  in 
a  burning  bush  nor  talked  with  Him  on  Sinai,  he  found 
Him  on  the  lonely  uplands  of  the  sheep-ranges  and 
heard  Him  in  the  voiceless  night  on  the  limitless  desert. 
The  young  Egyptian  was  not  yet  twenty  years  old  at 
the  time  of  the  numbering  before  Sinai,  and  he  entered 
the  Promised  Land  with  Joshua  and  Caleb.  For  verily 
he  walked  with  God  all  the  days  of  his  life. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  there  was  no  serene  life 
nor  any  happiness  in  the  long  wandering  of  forty 
years.  A  generation  of  oriental  adults  practically  dies 
out  in  that  time.  The  passing  of  the  elders  of  Israel, 
though  it  was  accomplished  by  plagues  and  sendings 
for  iniquities,  was  as  the  passing  of  the  old  in  the 
Orient  to-day.  The  encampment  was  not  continually 
filled  with  calamity  and  great  mourning — far  from  it. 
There  were  long  stretches  of  peace  and  plenty,  extend- 
ing almost  uninterruptedly  for  years,  and  those  who 
followed  the  law  escaped  the  intervals  of  catastrophe. 

Kenkenes  was  among  the  chosen  people  but  not  of 
them,  partly  because  he  was  of  the  execrated  race  of 
the  oppressors  and  partly  because  the  most  of  Israel 
had  nothing  in  common  with  the  nobleman.  But  Moses 
loved  him  and  found  joy  in  his  company.  Joshua  loved 
him  and  had  him  by  his  side  when  Israel  warred.  Ca- 
leb and  Aaron  loved  him  because  he  was  godly,  and 
Miriam  was  proud  of  him  and  was  mild  in  his  presence. 
He  took  no  public  part  in  the  people's  affairs,  yet  who 
shall  say  that  he  was  not  near  when  Bezaleel  wrought 


THE   PROMISED   LAND  613 

the  wondrous  angels  for  the  ark?  Who  shall  say  that 
his  purest  jewel  did  not  enter  the  breast-plate  of  the 
high  priest  ?  There  are  many  names  embraced  in  that 
general  term,  "every  wise-hearted  man  among  them 
that  wrought  the  work  of  the  tabernacle." 

So  when  Israel  took  up  the  forty  years  of  pasture- 
hunting  in  Paran,  Kenkenes  made  his  tent  beautiful 
and  pitched  it  always  apart  from  the  multitude,  and 
here  he  was  contented  all  the  days  that  Israel  tarried  in 
that  place.  Under  his  care  his  flocks  increased,  his  cat- 
tle multiplied  and  his  camels  were  not  few,  and  he  laid 
up  riches  for  the  four  stalwart  sons  and  the  golden- 
haired  daughter  who  were  to  live  after  him. 

From  the  moment  of  his  union  with  his  beautiful 
wife,  through  the  long  years  of  semi-isolation  that  he 
knew  thereafter,  he  grew  closer  and  closer  to  Rachel. 
She  filled  all  his  needs  as  Israel  failed  to  supply  them, 
and  he  missed  neither  friend  nor  neighbor  when  she 
was  near.  Rachel  knew  wherein  she  was  more  fortu- 
nate than  other  women  and  her  content  and  her  devo- 
tion were  beyond  measure.  So  Kenkenes  and  Rachel 
were  lovers  all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

If  ever  they  grew  reminiscent  there  was  one  name 
spoken  more  tenderly  than  any  other — the  name  of 
Atsu.  Kenkenes  would  grow  sad  of  countenance  and 
he  would  look  away,  but  there  was  no  jealousy  in  his 
heart  for  the  tears  of  Rachel  weeping  over  the  task- 
master who  died  for  her. 

The  collar  of  golden  rings  became  popular  in  Israel, 
and,  after  many  modifications  effected  by  time  and 
fashion,  it  came  at  last  to  be  the  insignia  of  the  virtuous 
woman.  For  centuries  it  was  worn  and  no  one  knows 
when  the  custom  died  out. 


614  THE  YOKE 

The  genius  of  Kenkenes  did  not  die.  His  voice  en- 
riched with  age,  and  the  rocky  vales  wherein  his  flocks 
wandered  had  melodious  echoes  whenever  he  followed 
the  sheep.  But  he  never  used  chisel  upon  stone  again. 
His  sons  were  artists  after  him,  but  they  were  handi- 
capped also.  And  so  it  continued  for  many  genera- 
tions until  the  Temple  of  Solomon  was  built.  Then, 
though  the  plans  came  from  the  Lord,  and  artisans 
were  brought  from  Tyre,  it  was  the  descendants  of 
Kenkenes  who  made  the  Temple  beautiful  "with  carved 
figures  of  cherubim  and  palm  trees  and  open  flowers, 
within  and  without." 


THE   END 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

When  the  Chaldeans  prostrated  themselves  before 
Nebuchadnezzar,  they  cried:  "O  King,  live  forever!" 
When  patrician  Rome  hailed  Nero  in  the  Circus,  the 
acclaim  was:  "Vivat  Imperator!"  When  the  faithful 
saluted  the  Caliph,  they  said :  "May  thy  shadow  never 
grow  less." 

Humanity,  living  in  eternal  contemplation  of  the 
tomb,  offers  its  highest  tribute  in  bespeaking  immor- 
tality for  its  great. 

But  Egypt  did  not  invoke  the  gift  of  deathlessness 
upon  the  Pharaoh;  she  declared  it.  He  was  an  Im- 
mortal and  died  not.  Though  he  more  nearly  justified 
the  confident  declaration  of  his  people,  he  but  proved 
that  there  is  no  sublunar  immortality,  though  in 
Egypt — almost. 

The  Pharaoh  lived  with  a  triple  purpose:  the  per- 
petuity of  his  empire,  of  his  dynasty,  of  his  individual- 
ity. He  steeped  his  body  in  indestructibility  and  wrote 
his  name  in  adamant.  He  employed  the  manifold 
means  at  the  command  of  his  era,  and  whether  his 
monument  were  a  colossus,  a  temple  or  a  city,  he 
^uilded  well. 

While  Europe  was  yet  a  vast  tract  of  gloomy  for- 
ests, and  morasses,  and  plains,  while  the  stone  that 
was  to  rear  Troy  was  yet  scattered  on  the  slopes  of 
Ida,  Mena,  the  first  Pharaoh  of  the  first  Dynasty,  de- 
flected the  Nile  against  the  Arabian  hills  and  built 

6i5 


616  AUTHOR'S    NOTE 

Memphis  in  its  bed.  So  saith  the  writings  that  are 
graven  in  stone.  If  this  be  true,  this  story  deals  with  a 
quaint  but  efficient  civilization  that  was  already  three 
thousand  years  old,  fourteen  centuries  before  Christ. 

An  effort  has  been  made  to  conform  to  the  history 
of  the  time  as  it  comes  down  to  us  in  the  form  of 
biblical  accounts  and  the  writings  of  contemporaneous 
chroniclers.  The  author  has  taken  liberty  with  ac- 
cepted history  in  the  age  of  Meneptah's  first-born  and 
in  placing  Hebrews  in  the  quarries  at  Masaarah. 
The  escape  of  Kenkenes  in  the  Passover  is  not  in- 
tended to  contradict  the  biblical  statement  that  not  one 
of  the  eldest  born  was  spared.  Rather,  it  is  offered, 
as  an  hypothesis,  that  the  Angel  of  Death  would  have 
passed  over  any  true  believer  in  Jehovah,  regardless 
of  his  nationality.  Furthermore,  the  author  has  given 
the  Greek  spelling  to  some  names,  the  Egyptic  to 
others,  the  purpose  being  to  present  those  pronuncia- 
tions most  familiar  to  readers. 

For  all  facts  herein  set  forth,  the  author  is  indebted 
to  a  multitude  of  authorities,  chiefly  to  Wilkinson, 
Birch,  Rawlinson,  Ebers,  and  Erman. 


A  DELICIOUS  LITTLE  COMEDY 

THE 
FORTUNES  of  FIFI 

By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEA  WELL 
Author  of  Francezka  and  Children  of  Destiny 


The  Fortunes  of  Fifi  is  a  delicious  little  comedy, 
a  comedy  in  which  gay  humor,  a  pretty  sentiment 
and  some  very  amusing  situations  all  have  their 
place.  The  story  is  one  of  French  life  in  the  time 
of  Napoleon;  and  it  is  not  only  French  in  subject 
but  French  in  the  animation  of  its  plot,  and  in 
gaiety  of  spirit.  Fifi  is  a  charming  little  actress  of 
eighteen,  employed  in  a  third-rate  Parisian  theater, 
where  she  is  watched  over  vigilantly  by  her  guard- 
ian, the  factotum  of  the  theater,  an  ugly,  stiff-legged 
ex-soldier.  The  innocent  wiles  and  justifiable  tricks 
of  Fifi  are  a  delight.  She  is  full  of  invention  and,  at 
the  same  time,  artless  as  a  child. 

With  illustrations  in  color  by 

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A  MASTER  of  THE  STORY-TELLER'S  ART 

SHE  THAT 
HESITATES 

By  HARRIS  DICKSON 


She  That  Hesitates  is  the  best  of  all  romances  oflove  behind 
the  throne  to  the  credit  of  American  authors. 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

Mr.  Dickson  has  a  mastery  of  the  story-teller's  art,  the 
power  to  awaken  interest,  and  to  command  unflagging  atten- 
tion.   It  is  a  clever  story  withal  and  cleverly  told. 

— Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

She  That  Hesitates,  by  Mr.  Harris  Dickson,  is  a  splendid 
story  of  adventure  and  written  with  an  artistic  restraint. 

— New  York  Sun, 

This  is  a  delightful  book,  belonging  to  the  select  "  one- 
chapter-more -and-then-I' 11 -go-to-bed  "  school.  Like  looping 
the  loop,  one  who  starts  can  not  stop  until  the  end  is  reached. 

— Literary  Bulletin. 


Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea 
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DAYS   OF  HARDY   ENDEAVOR  AND 
MAGNIFICENT  ACHIEVEMENT 

TOMORROW'S 
TANGLE 

By  GERALDINE  BONNER 


Since  Bret  Harte,  there  has  been  no  story  of  the  Bonanza 
days  that  can  compare  with  this. — New  York  Press. 

The  story  is  full  of  life  and  with  characters  that  are  as 
clearly  cut  as  portraits  in  steel.  It  is  an  American  story,  too, 
and  that  is  another  claim  to  the  reader's  attention. 

— Nashville  American. 

To  miss  reading  this  story,  which  tells  so  vividly  of  both  the 
great  and  small  hearts  of  an  incomparable  land,  is  to  miss  a 
pleasure  that  is  not  often  available. — Baltimore  Herald. 

A  masterly  piece  of  work  worthy  of  a  master  hand.  To  un- 
fold this  absorbing  tangle  will  be  a  pleasure  to  every  reader. 

— Boston  Herald. 

The  book  gives  a  sense  of  largeness,  an  almost  Biblical  free- 
dom for  the  emotions  amid  an  atmosphere  of  primitive  nature. 
Miss  Bonner  is  a  story-teller  of  no  common  quality. 

— Literary  Digest. 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller 
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A  STORY  OF  TODAY 


The  MAIN  CHANCE 

By  MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 


The  Main  Chance  is  a  straightforward,  honest 
picture  of  the  life  of  today  in  a  wide-awake  western 
city.  It  leaves  with  the  reader  a  pleasant  impression 
of  a  type  of  people  and  a  phase  of  life  well  worth  a 
closer  acquaintance. 

The  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Nicholson's  work  is  marked  by  wholesome 

humor,  convincing  realism,  admirable  diction,  bright 

sayings,  a  good  sense,  of  proportion  and  artistic  finish. 

The  Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

The  Main  Chance  is  a  romance  of  youth,  of  love 
and  of  success  honestly  won.  It  is  a  vigorous,  buoy- 
ant, cheering  story,  full  of  crisp  humor,  forceful 
charm  and  hard  common  sense.  It  is  American  to 
the  very  core.  The  Reader. 

We  recommend  it  for  its  workmanship,  for  its 
smoothness  and  its  sensible  and  pleasant  fancies,  and 
for  its  general  charm.  The  New  York  Sun. 

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A  GOOD  DETECTIVE  STORY 

THE 
FILIGREE  BALL 


By  ANNA  KATHERINE  GREEN 
Author  of  "The  Leavenworth  Case  " 


This  is  something  more  than  a  mere  detective  story  ;  it  is 
a  thrilling  romance — a  romance  of  mystery  and  crime  where 
a  shrewd  detective  helps  to  solve  the  mystery.  The  plot  is  a 
novel  and  intricate  one,  carefully  worked  out.  There  are  con- 
stant accessions  to  the  main  mystery,  so  that  the  reader  can 
not  possibly  imagine  the  conclusion.  The  story  is  clean-cut 
and  wholesome,  with  a  quality  that  might  be  called  manly. 
The  characters  are  depicted  so  as  to  make  a  living  impression. 
Cora  Tuttle  is  a  fine  creation,  and  the  flash  of  love  which  she 
gives  the  hero  is  wonderfully  well  done.  Unlike  many  mystery 
stories  The  Filigree  Ball  is  not  disappointing  at  the  end.  The 
characters  most  liked  but  longest  suspected  are  proved  not  only 
guiltless,  but  above  suspicion.  It  is  a  story  to  be  read  with  a 
rush  and  at  a  sitting,  for  no  one  can  put  it  down  until  the 
mystery  is  solved. 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 
i2mo,    Cloth,   Price,   $1.50 


The    Bobbs-Merrill   Company,    Indianapolh 


A    ROMANCE    OF    COLLEGE    LIFE 

THE  TORCH 

By  HERBERT  M.  HOPKINS 


This  novel  of  American  University  life  presents  the  struggle 
for  life  that  goes  on  wherever  men  are  gathered.  It  is  a  tale  of 
the  battle  of  men  for  leadership,  of  strength  and  craft,  of  wealth 
and  competition.  It  is  a  story  full  of  battle  and  defeat  and 
victory.  The  Torch  is  as  engrossing  as  a  romance  of  derring-do. 
— New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

The  book  is  clever  and  entertaining,  and  likely  to  be  found 
so  by  every  class  of  readers.  Its  theme  is  novel,  its  incidents 
unhackneyed,  and  its  interest  of  the  live  and  up-to-date  sort. 
College  men  in  particular  should  read  it.  The  author  is  to  be 
congratulated  on  having  produced  a  novel  of  originality  and 
distinction. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

There  are  scenes  in  The  Torch  that  will  be  numbered  among 
the  few  scenes  in  American  fiction  that  are  really  a  pleasure  to 
remember. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser . 

As  a  picture  of  University  life  of  today  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  men  who  mold  it,  the  book  is  admirable  and  full  of  keen, 
unprejudiced  observation. — Boston  Herald. 

The  Torch  is  an  admirably  well  written  novel  of  sustained 
interest  and  cumulative  force. — Philadelphia  Press. 

i2mo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


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WRITTEN  TO  ENTERTAIN 


THE  GREY  CLOAK 

By    HAROLD     MAC    GRATH 
Author  of  The  Puppet  Crown 


There  have  been  many  excellent  stories  of  love 
and  intrigue,  but  no  one  of  them  all  equals  in  depth 
of  fascination  and  subtle  plot  and  counterplot  The 
Grey  Cloak.  The  New  York  American. 

Harold  MacGrath  wrote  in  The  Grey  Cloak 
a  book  which  the  reader  could  not  lay  down  till  he 
finished.    In  a  busy  age  this  is  an  offense  against  in 
dustry.    Mr.  MacGrath  is  certainly  found  guilty 
of  it.  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

As  a  historical  romance  The  Grey  Cloak  is  simply 
immense,  as  a  work  of  fiction  it  is  of  the  highest 
pyschological  importance,  and  as  a  story  it  is  a  vol- 
ume of  sensation  as  well  as  intensity. 

The  Boston  Times. 

If  you  want  a  smoothly  written,  cleverly  con- 
structed story  of  love  and  exciting  adventure,  follow 
the  fortunes  of  The  Grey  Cloak.    The  Toledo  Blade, 

With  illustrations  by  Thomas  Mitchell  Peirce 
1 2mo,  cloth.    Price,  #1.50 


The  Bobbs- Merrill   Company,   Indianapolis 


A  SPLENDIDLY  VITAL  NARRATION 

THE  MASTER  OF 
APPLEBY 

A  romance  of  the  Carolina: 
By  FRANCIS  LYNDE 


Viewed  either  as  a  delightful  entertainment  or  as 
a  skilful  and  finished  piece  of  literary  art,  this  is 
easily  one  of  the  most  important  of  recent  novels. 
One  can  not  read  a  dozen  pages  without  realizing 
that  the  author  has  mastered  the  magic  of  the  story- 
teller's art.  After  the  dozen  pages  the  author  is 
forgotten  in  his  creations. 

It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  characters  in  fiction  live 
and  love,  suffer  and  fight,  grasp  and  renounce  in 
so  human  a  fashion  as  in  this  splendidly  vital  nar- 
ration. 

With  pictures  by  T.  de  Thulstrup 
l2mo,  cloth.      Price,  $1.50 


The    Bobbs- Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


WHAT  BOOK  BY  A  NEW  AUTHOR  HAS 
RECEIVED  SUCH  PRAISE? 


WHAT  MANNER 

OF  MAN 

By  EDNA  KENTON 


The  novel,  "  What  Manner  of  Man,"  is  a  study  of  what 
is  commonly  known  as  the  "artistic  temperament,"  and  a 
novel  so  far  above  the  average  level  of  merit  as  to  cause  even 
tired  reviewers  to  sit  up  and  take  hope  once  more. 

— New  York  Times. 

It  will  certainly  stand  out  as  one  of  the  most  notable  novels 
of  the  year. — Philadelphia  Press. 

It  does  not  need  a  trained  critical  faculty  to  recognize  that 
this  book  is  something  more  than  clever. — N.  Y.  Commercial. 

Note  should  be  made  of  the  literary  charm  and  value  of  the 
work,  and  likewise  of  its  eminently  readable  quality,  considered 
purely  as  a  romance. — Philadelphia  Record. 

Literary  distinction  is  stamped  on  every  page,  and  the  author's 
insight  into  the  human  heart  gives  promise  of  a  brilliant  future. 
— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  whole  book  is  full  of  dramatic  force.  The  author  is 
an  unusual  thinker  and  observer,  and  has  a  rare  gift  for  creative 
literature. — Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

"  What  Manner  of  Man  "  is  a  study  and  a  creation. 

— Ni  r.  World. 

l2mo,  Cloth,  Gilt  Top,  $1.50 


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DIFFERENT   AND   DELIGHTFUL 

UNDER  THE 
ROSE 

A  Story  of  the  Loves  of  a  Duke  and  a  Jester 

By  FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 

Author  of  The  Strollers 


In  "  Under  the  Rose  "  Mr.  Isham  has  written  a  most 
entertaining  book — the  plot  is  unique  ;  the  style  is  graceful  and 
clever  ;  the  whole  story  is  pervaded  by  a  spirit  of  sunshine  and 
good  humor,  and  the  ending  is  a  happy  one.  Mr.  Christy's 
pictures  mark  a  distinct  step  forward  in  illustrative  art.  There 
is  only  one  way,  and  it  is  an  entertaining  one,  to  find  out  what 
is  "  Under  the  Rose  " — read  it 


"  No  one  will  take  up  *  Under  the  Rose  *  and  lay  it  down 
before  completion  ;  many  will  even  return  to  it  for  a  repeated 
reading" — Book  News. 

"  Mr.  Isham  tells  all  of  his  fanciful,  romantic  tale  delight- 
fully. The  reader  who  love»  romance,  intrigue  and  adventure, 
love-seasoned,  will  find  it  here."— The  Lamp. 

With  Illustrations  in  Six  Colors  by- 
Howard  Chandler  Christy 
12010,  Cloth,  Price,  $1.50 

The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,   Indianapolis 


THE  GREAT  NOVEL  OF  THE  YEAR 

THE  MISSISSIPPI 
BUBBLE 

How  the  star  of  good  fortune  rose  and  set  and  rose 

again,  by  a  woman' s  grace,  for  ont 

John  Law,  of  Lauriston 

A  novel  by  EMERSON  HOUGH 


Emerson  Hough  has  written  one  of  the  best  novels  that  has 
come  out  of  America  in  many  a  day.  It  is  an  exciting  story, 
with  the  literal  »  touch  on  every  page. 

— Jeannettk  L.  Gilder,  of  The  Critic. 

In  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  Emerson  Hough  has  taken 
John  Law  and  certain  known  events  in  his  career,  and  about 
them  he  has  woven  a  web  of  romance  full  of  brilliant  coloring 
and  cunning  work.  It  proves  conclusively  that  Mr.  Hough 
is  a  novelist  of  no  ordinary  quality. — The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

As  a  novel  embodying  a  wonderful  period  in  the  growth  of 
America  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  is  of  intense  interest.  As 
a  love  story  it  is  rarely  and  beautifully  told.  John  Law,  as 
drawn  in  this  novel,  is  a  great  character,  cool,  debonair,  auda- 
cious, he  is  an  Admirable  Crichton  in  his  personality,  and  a 
Napoleon  in  his  far-reaching  wisdom. — The  Chicago  American. 

The  Illustrations  by  Henry  Hutt 
I  2mo,  452  pageSj  $1.50 


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